Tyranny
by Anne Murdoch
Summary: Jim and Blair solve a crime. Angst and injury follow.
1. Chapter 1

This takes place after the episode "Hear No Evil", and before the story "Trust."

by Anne Murdoch

**I.**

It was uncommonly pleasant for February. Blair wandered out on to the patio and closed his eyes. Warm air caressed his face and brushed tickling strands of hair against his cheek. Tucking the errant hair behind an ear, he moved to face the sun, feeling the warmth kiss his skin and penetrate him until his whole body felt warm and alive. He never realized how much he missed the sunshine until days like this. Cascade was rainy and grim so much of the time, but his travels had taken him to places where the sun shone almost 365 days a year. The jungle could be humid, stifling and uncomfortable, though. This day was perfect. Wispy clouds scooted lazily across a dazzling blue sky, birds were singing, boats were out on the water...

Blair chuckled. Any minute he was going to break out in song.

It was so nice that Blair considered blowing off his afternoon class, grabbing a lawn chair, and basting out on the balcony all day. No doubt many of his students had already made that decision. Maybe he'd hold his class out on the commons today. The few students dedicated enough to show up ought to enjoy that. It would be a nice change that would energize everyone. Winter wasn't over yet, and he was sure that this warm weather wouldn't last.

Blair's thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of Jim preparing to leave. He might be able to blow off a class or two, but there was no question of going with Jim. Even if his partner understood perfectly the urge to drop everything and spend a day goofing off, he would expect Blair to overcome it and do his job; especially since they'd both had some extended down time lately, recuperating from the effects of Cascade's latest designer drug. It was precisely because of that experience that Blair would rather take the day to enjoy life.

Sighing in resignation, Blair turned from the sun, capturing the good mood he was in and trying to hold on to it.

Blair was feeling so high that he sprung for breakfast on the way to work and refused to be disgusted while Jim wolfed down a greasy looking breakfast burrito. He stuck with a whole grain muffin and some coffee. "So how did it go with Margaret last night?" Blair took a sip from the large Styrofoam cup as they walked into the station. The other officers they passed seemed to be uncommonly cheerful.

Jim beamed. "Great. She's a fantastic woman. I don't know where you've been keeping her all this time."

"I didn't think you guys would hit it off." Blair had to admit that he'd jumped at Margaret's suggestion that they use reverse psychology to trick Jim into meeting her, although he still questioned the wisdom of fixing up two friends. Still, she was an open, loving woman. Blair thought they'd be good for each other. "You were out pretty late last night..."

"It's none of your business, Sandburg."

Jim's current facial expression was one that Blair had tried once or twice to duplicate. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror one day, he'd tried to remove all emotion from his face. It was easy enough. Blair could even mimic the big cop's twitching jaw. What confounded him was the eyes. They were the mirrors of the soul, but with little effort Jim could remove any trace of emotion from them. It was a look that could chill Blair to the bone.

And yet, there were subtle degrees to it. The blank stare Jim had just graced Blair with was not filled with anger, but simply a message that his question had stepped over that invisible boundary that meant he was asking too many personal questions. There was even a hint of good humor in it. Blair wondered if anyone but him could have made the distinction.

Like a little kid, Blair sometimes felt the urge to step over that invisible line. "Awww, c'mon man..."

The whoosh of the elevator doors diverted Blair's attention, and he stepped inside. At that moment, his heart became an obstruction in his throat and his cheerful smile stiffened into a grimace. The soul occupant was Officer Jerry Dorsey, a 20-year veteran of the Cascade PD. He was standing rigidly in one corner of the small space and staring at Blair with open hostility. The cop was one of the few men in the department who held Blair responsible for his actions in the parking garage after he'd eaten a piece of drug-laced pizza. Apparently, Blair had come very close to ventilating the guy, and it was only the quick actions of other officers that had prevented this man from putting a hole in his head. Blair flushed and stared at the floor of the elevator, his emotions at war with each other. He was pissed at the cop for daring to blame him and angry at himself for not having the guts to look the man in the eye.

Doubt flooded him. Maybe he _could_ have controlled himself. If he'd been smarter and stronger he would have been able to deny the visions that had assaulted him that night...

_Get a grip Sandburg! You know that's complete bull._

He'd been under the influence of a powerful hallucinogen. The chemicals had altered his reality and it was a miracle he'd been able to remain lucid enough to hand the gun over to Jim. Blair looked up sharply and met the officer's accusing eyes.

Jim's look could have turned molten lava to ice. "You got a problem, Dorsey?"

Dorsey's gaze broke from Blair and focused on Jim, his voice a study in casualness. "No, Ellison. No problem."

The elevator glided to a stop and the doors opened. Blair immediately stepped out, eager to avoid a confrontation. Having Jim fight his battles for him would just make things worse. All he wanted now was to walk to the bullpen, get started on some paperwork, and put this lovely little encounter behind him.

_Yeah, like that will ever happen._

Jim's hand clamped down on his shoulder. "Dorsey is a jerk. Don't let it bother you."

It did bother him, though. Why were his intellect and emotions so separated that he continued to feel guilty for actions that he _knew_ were beyond his control? Jim and Simon had refused to tell him how much damage he had done to the parking garage, but he knew it was significant. Regardless of the fact that he was drugged when it happened, he had fired a gun at cops and come damned close to blowing up the garage. Falling to pieces in front of the entire Cascade Police Department was not going to improve his image any, either. It was all the more disturbing because he knew that his hallucinations had come from something dark buried deep within his psyche, and he'd revealed it to Simon and Jim.

A vision of a human form, covered in flames, rising from the floor and moaning flashed in his memory. 'They think they're ashes, but they're real.' Blair shuddered, wishing that the horrific events of that night would fade.

"Sandburg?"

Startled, Blair almost dropped his coffee. "Oh, sorry." The Doc had warned him about flashbacks, but this had seemed like nothing more than a vivid memory. He didn't want to know what a real one felt like.

"Blair?"

"What? I'm fine."

"You've gotta stop beating yourself up over this. None of it was your fault. You were attacked, just the same as if you had been mugged. You had no way of seeing it coming."

Anger, which had been lurking just below the surface, exploded. "I might as well be a cop killer as far as some of these guys are concerned. I'm sick of people looking at me like I'm some kind of crazed lunatic!"

Jim caught Blair's gaze and held it. "Listen to me, Blair. You are blowing this way out of proportion. I know you're embarrassed by what happened, but the people who are your friends, the people you work with here almost every day, don't blame you for it."

Detective Brown, who had undoubtedly been listening to the entire exchange, looked up from his desk and smiled. "Hell no! Sandburg, what do you think would have happened if I'd chowed on that pizza? I'm a crack shot. For sure, I would have taken a couple of people out before anyone had a chance to drop me. Even worse, what would have happened if a lot of the guys were here when it was delivered? It would have been a blood bath. We were lucky it was you, if you want to know the truth. You can't aim worth a damn, Hairboy." The young detective snorted at his own joke and returned his attention to his work.

Blair allowed himself a small smile of relief, feeling his mood lifting again.

"See?" Jim patted him on the back. "So there are a couple of morons on the force. They probably didn't like you before this happened and now they're happy to have a reason to give you grief."

"Gee, thanks. I feel so much better now."

It was true, though. He did. As Blair sat down in the chair next to Jim's desk he decided that it was time to let it go. It had occupied his thoughts for the two weeks he'd spent recuperating and he was tired of worrying about it. His friends were still his friends, and that was all that mattered. He took a deep breath and tried to push it behind him. "So what's on for today?"

"Just some routine stuff. Everything's been pretty quiet lately."

The door to Captain Banks' office opened, and the tall man emerged, chomping at an unlit cigar and looking more peeved than usual. Blair sometimes imagined that Simon only had one cigar, like a security blanket. He didn't think he'd ever seen the captain actually smoking one.

"Ellison. Sandburg."

Blair swatted Jim's arm with the back of his hand. "Now look what you did."

When the two men had entered the office and closed the door, Simon handed Jim a piece of paper. "There's been an arson. A lawyer by the name of Brickler."

"Anyone hurt?"

"No. The owners were away for the weekend when it happened. There's a twist, though. The fire marshal found a piece of paper in the Brickler's mailbox with the words 'End Tyranny' typed on it. Forensics is checking for prints and typeface now. Looks like we may have another nut case on our hands."

Blair snorted.

Simon fixed the younger man with a withering look. "What's so funny, Sandburg?"

"Sorry. I was just wondering what the ratio of nut cases per thousand is in Cascade. Might make an interesting study."

"Too damned high! Now why don't you two get out there and do something about it?" Simon bit down hard on his cigar.

Blair decided that the wise course of action at this point was to keep his mouth shut.

Jim regarded his captain with concern. "You OK, Simon?"

Simon's shoulders slumped in resignation. "I'm sorry guys. Did you see this morning's paper?" He tossed the Cascade Examiner, folded to the editorial page, onto the edge of his desk.

The detective picked it up and Blair stood beside him to look. A prominent local businessman had written a letter to the editor on the growing crime rate. Blair read part of it aloud. "'In the last year, the fair city of Cascade has been subject to unprecedented numbers of gang wars, bombings and serial killings. How do we account for the severity of these crimes? Other cities our size may deal with one or two incidents like this over the course of ten years. We seem to attract them all in one. There can be only one reason for it. Our police force is woefully inadequate and inept. They are very good at cleaning up the mess after tragedy strikes, but they do nothing to prevent it.'"

Blair grunted in disgust. "What a load of bull!"

"The mayor doesn't think so. If we don't get a handle on this arson thing right away, it's just going to add fuel to the fire."

Blair grinned at the pun, but stopped short of commenting. Simon was glaring at him again.

"I'm serious here! If we don't solve this case quickly, heads are going to roll, and you'll be studying Jim while we're all standing in the unemployment line." The pencil in Simon's hand snapped as he spoke.

"You need to relax, man. All that stress isn't good for you. I speak from experience here. Take a couple of deep breaths." Blair gestured with his hands and inhaled deeply.

"Sandburg, I'm in no mood for your new age mumbo jumbo."

"Ask Jim. It really works." Blair walked behind Simon's desk and gestured for him to take a seat. "C'mon, sir," he cajoled. "If you keep on stressing like this you're going to end up like that pencil."

Jim nodded, trying to hide the amused expression on his face. "I promise I won't tell anyone, Captain."

Simon growled and sat. "OK, now what?"

"Umm, you're going to have to put the cigar down." Blair cringed, waiting for Simon to bellow that he'd had enough and kick him out of the office. It didn't happen. Instead, the captain impatiently set the cigar in the ashtray and raised his eyebrows, waiting.

Blair perched on the edge of the desk. "Close your eyes." Simon glared at him one last time before he shut them.

"Now, breath deeply and feel your chest rising...Let it out slowly through your nose." As Simon reluctantly obeyed, Blair lulled him into a state of slow and steady breathing, urging him to release the tension in his muscles. The captain's brow had been furrowed with worry, but as he breathed, Blair could see his face soften and begin to look peaceful. He waited quietly as several minutes passed, trying to ignore Jim, who was leaning against the table, arms folded, looking at them with an enigmatic smile on his face.

_Probably expecting me to yell and scare him. Yeah, like I'm really into having Simon throttle me to death._

"OK, now take one last deep breath and open your eyes."

Simon opened his eyes, the beginnings of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"Feel better?"

"Much." He sat up straight, a tone of wonder in his voice. "Thanks, Sandburg."

There were plenty of other techniques Blair knew of to help Simon deal with the hassles of his job, but he'd been surprised to get this far so he decided not to press his luck.

"OK, you two. Time to earn your paychecks."

Blair looked at Simon inquisitively, biting back a smile.

"You know what I mean. Out!" **II.**

The first order of business was to go to the scene and canvas the area around the burned house. Jim knew that officers had already done a preliminary inquiry and had turned up no witnesses. The house was set far back in a heavily wooded lot and it would have been easy for an intruder to get in and out without being seen. People in this upscale neighborhood rarely sat on the front porch watching the comings and goings of their neighbors.

Blair had been quiet during the drive, and Jim knew it was the incident in the elevator that was causing it. He was going to have to pull Dorsey aside for a serious talk one of these days. The kid was having a hard enough time dealing with what had happened without some ignorant bastard like that making it harder on him. At least Brown had overheard the conversation this morning. He'd seen the positive effects of his comments on Blair.

Simon had a hand in it, too, unbeknownst to Blair. Jim had heard about his captain's actions through the grapevine. While Jim was riding in the ambulance, fighting panic because Blair was no longer breathing on his own, Simon had gathered the men who had witnessed the incident and read them the riot act. The captain had told them in no uncertain terms that Blair was a victim, and that it easily could have been any member of the department on the hood of the car. According to Joel, Simon had put the fear of God into them, telling them that if he heard of anyone giving Blair a hard time about it, "I'll have your ass for dinner and give what's left of it to Ellison for dessert."

The one thing that kept haunting Jim, and had hurled him out of a sound sleep more than once since that night, was the horror in his friend's voice. He'd seen many emotions in the kid since they'd met, but nothing that came close to the raw fear he'd heard as Blair described the 'golden fire people'. Jim's lingering blindness had caused him to focus more intensely on his sense of hearing, and that had imprinted every word of Blair's hallucination in his memory. Even now, weeks later, the memory of it caused icy shards of fear to run up his spine.

Jim still wondered at the fact that his partner hadn't been killed after he had fired the first shot. In future, he would have to remember to give his fellow officers credit for having some restraint.

"Whoa, Jim. We just passed Sprucewood."

Jim looked in the rearview mirror and saw that he had indeed driven right past it. He made a U-turn in the wide, tree-lined avenue and headed back. There was a gate almost as soon as he turned the corner. A large sign made of carved wood announced that they were entering Evergreen Hills. A small guard post was just outside the gate, manned by a burly, slightly overweight man in his mid 30's. When Jim showed his badge, he was not immediately admitted. Instead, the guard, whose name tag read W. Anklam, phoned the police department to verify Jim's identity. Jim's badge number was confirmed and the man pressed a button causing the gates to roll slowly open. The detective was impressed with the security so far, and he asked the guard how far around the housing development the high wrought iron fence went.

Anklam shook his head in disgust. "Only about 500 yards, then it becomes a cheap chain link. This is all for show. The people who live here are middle class pretending to be high class." He sighed. "I do my best here," He gestured to his small cubicle, which contained two TV monitors showing views from the security cameras. Barely enough to cover the front gate, let alone the 30 or so houses that were beyond it. "But all I'm really doing is filtering out the stupid criminals."

"Did you see anyone coming in or out last night?"

"Just residents."

"How about anyone driving by out here more than once?"

"Not that I noticed, and I think I would have. Traffic is pretty light after 11."

"Were you ever away from your post?"

"Nope." He pointed to a small door that led to the other half of the cubicle. "Bathroom's right here. All the comforts of home. I suppose it's remotely possible that someone climbed over the fence while I was in the can, but not likely. Why climb over here when you've got hundreds of feet of unguarded fence all around this place?"

"You've got a point. Thanks for your help, sir. And if you remember anything, please give me a call." Jim handed the man a card and drove into the housing development.

Turning onto a road that seemed to wind through a small forest, he noticed that all of the houses were tucked back into the trees. It was a peaceful place to live. Well, almost. The sound of chain saws, which Jim had been ignoring for the last mile became louder as they turned a sharp bend, coming to a lot in which branches were being cut from several fire-damaged trees. Looking down the drive, Jim could see the burned shell of what had once been a large home.

Jim drove onto a brick driveway and parked the truck. Pulling a small blue case from his pocket, he plucked out two small earplugs and put them in. He really didn't need the white noise generators now that he had his hearing under control again, but it was nice to have them in situations like this. Blair had already chastised him for using them and had even threatened to take them away, saying that they were the lazy way out, and if Jim ever wanted to control his hearing the right way, he couldn't start falling back on artificial methods. The kid would probably needle him about it until he gave them up.

Blair fixed Jim with a disgusted look until his attention was diverted by the smoking ruins. "Wow, major destruction! Jim, Simon said that the arsonist used gasoline. Can you smell it?"

Blair pointedly kept his voice at a normal level, and Jim was finding it difficult to hear him over the white noise and the cacophony outside the truck. The detective had learned months ago that certain battles with the stubborn anthropologist required more energy to fight than they were worth. He returned the earplugs to their case.

The two men got out of the truck and approached the scene. Jim stepped gingerly over the charred remains of a support beam. The fire had obliterated everything.

"There's not much left here. I don't think it will do any good."

"Yes, but Jim, fire has a different effect on everything it touches. We've been over this before. Plastic has a unique chemical smell when it burns, just like different types of burning wood create different scents. You might be able to pick up on something here."

"I'll buy that. But gasoline is different. I'm sure it's completely vaporized by now, and we've got a good breeze blowing out here." As if to punctuate his statement, a gust of wind kicked ashes up into the air.

Blair turned his back to the wind, rubbing grit from his eye with his fingers. "Humor me, OK? If nothing else, we'll see whether or not you can distinguish between things that have been burned."

Jim sighed and closed his eyes, trying to pick out the all too familiar scent of gasoline. He really wasn't in the mood for this today, but he'd do it for Blair, if only because the sight of the burned house brought back memories of the fire at Tommy's. His partner had saved his life, nearly at the cost of his own. That was worth at least five minutes of his time.

Individually he was able to pick out dozens of different smells. Some he recognized immediately. Others were more difficult. Sorting through everything he was sensing here would require sitting down with different materials and burning them so he could tell what each one smelled like. Jim seemed to remember Blair suggesting an experiment like that before, but somehow he'd avoided it. After today, though, a battery of tests was inevitable.

Shaking his head, Jim said, "Nope. Nothing unusual. No gasoline at all."

"Could you tell what burned here?"

"Yeah. A lot of stuff with artificial smells, like plastics and polyester. Also, a lot of pine, which I assume was used in the construction of the house. Some faint traces of chemicals, maybe cleaning supplies."

"Awesome."

Jim could see Blair mentally adding several pages to his thesis. He interrupted the anthropologist before he could suggest anything else. "C'mon, Chief. Let's go talk to the neighbors."

It was still early in the morning. Jim was lucky and caught some of the Brickler's neighbors at home. They were polite and cooperative, but hadn't seen anything. The fire had been started late at night, and most of the residents could recall being awakened when the fire trucks began to roll in, but not before that. No suspicious activities, no strangers in the neighborhood. Jim suspected that most of these people wouldn't be able to give an accurate description of the men who mowed their lawns. Many of the residents spent long hours working so that they could afford to live in a house they spent very little time in.

One man admitted that he only slept at home and spent most of his waking hours at the company he was vice president of. Twice during the short interview, they'd been interrupted by the executive's cell phone. When Jim finished with his questions, the man jumped into his BMW and sped off. Blair watched him go with a look of awe and disgust.

"If I ever get my priorities screwed up like that just shoot me, man."

"Sandburg, I don't think it's humanly possible for you to become a yuppie."

Jim truly believed that. For Blair, money was a tool to be used to further education, make discoveries, go on expeditions, and pay for the bare necessities of life. It was not a goal in and of itself.

The next order of business was checking the perimeter of the fence for any signs of the intruder.

Jim and Blair hopped in the truck and traveled a short distance down the road to an unused back entrance. A poorly hidden security camera was perched in a tree opposite the gate.

The boundaries of the housing development were natural. A steep, rocky hillside rose up on the east side while a deep ravine wound it's way along the north and west sides. As the two men followed the fence, Jim realized that the natural barriers were probably a more effective crime deterrent than the artificial ones. Anyone wanting to gain access from the East would need climbing gear, and access from the bottom of the ravine was almost as bad. It was possible to climb the steep incline, but it would take more dedication and hard work than the average burglar would be willing to go to, and carrying anything of a significant size back out would be virtually impossible.

It soon became apparent that they would not be able to follow the fence from the inside. Overgrown with trees, vines and bushes, they'd need a machete to hack their way through. The two men drove around and parked near the main road outside the development. As they made their way to the bottom of the ravine, Jim assessed the possibilities.

"You think the arsonist came from this side?"

"Probably. This is the most accessible area we've seen so far, unless the intruder sneaked past the gate somehow."

Blair looked at the relatively gentle slope that had led them from the road to the small creek and then up at the dauntingly steep incline that led from the creek to the high fence. "Are you sure that house wasn't torched by a mountain goat?"

Jim didn't answer. To find any signs of illegal entry he would have to look at the fence, but it would be dangerous and damn near impossible to climb up and walk the length of it.

Blair seemed to read his thoughts. "If you focus in on each section of fence from down here, you're going to have an awesome headache by the time you're finished...three days from now."

"I don't see any other way to do it, short of climbing up."

"Maybe..." Blair's eyes lit up and he stood silently for a moment.

"What?"

Blair waved his hands at him. "Shhhh...I'm thinking."

"Try not to wear out the hamsters."

The comment caught Blair off guard. He almost laughed out loud, but recovered at the last second and scowled at Jim instead. "What specifically would you be looking for? A hole?"

"Basically. It's a high fence so it would be more practical for an intruder to cut his way through. An opening large enough to squeeze through."

"OK, so you know what it would look like..."

"What are you getting at, Chief?"

"Normally when you use your enhanced sight you are using it to focus in on one specific thing. What if you programmed yourself to scan the fence?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"I'm not sure either. Let's try something. You know the drill, man."

Jim closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Whenever Blair used a certain tone of voice these days it seemed to automatically trigger a trance-like state.

"OK, now picture an opening in the fence. Fix that image in your mind. You want to remember to stop scanning when you see it. OK, open your eyes." Blair gestured upwards. "I want you to focus your sight, but not on any specific part of the fence, look at the whole thing. We're going to walk along the length of it and you aren't going to focus on any one area. Don't worry about looking where you're walking, I'll help you there." Blair grabbed Jim's arm and pulled him slowly along. "Stop me if you see an opening."

Jim focused on the bottom part of the fence and let his eyes drift along it. At first he had trouble focusing. His line of vision was frequently broken by tree trunks and other plant life, but eventually he was able to convince his mind to ignore everything but the fence. He felt a little dizzy as Blair pulled him gently forward, but then something in his brain clicked and it seemed as if he could see each link individually as it flicked past his vision. They had walked about halfway down the length of the fence when Jim abruptly stopped. An opening about four feet high appeared in front of him. It had worked. As he looked at it, he could see marks where the tool used to cut the links had pinched the metal, and the stress points where the fence had been folded back to make a sort of doorway...

An anxious voice brought him back to the present.

"Jim! C'mon, man! You're zoning out."

Jim felt two hands on his chest and saw that Blair was leaning on him with his entire weight to keep him from falling over. He straightened, wobbling a bit, then blinked and looked at Blair. "Wow."

"Did you find it?"

"Yeah. That was strange." The world was spinning slightly.

"What did it feel like?"

"I dunno. It's hard to explain. A little like looking at a slot machine. You know how everything flies by in a blur? Then it suddenly stopped and I was looking at a hole in the fence."

"It worked! Oh man, this is great!"

Jim began walking back and forth, eyeing the incline and trying to locate the best path, then began making his way up.

"We're not going up there, are we?"

"You can stay down here if you want, Chief." Jim made sure there was no challenge in his voice. "I'm just going to take a quick look."

Blair stood indecisively for a moment and then started up after him, his instincts as a guide winning out over his fear of heights. Jim knew Blair didn't want to risk him zoning out at the top. Weaving their way through trees and shrubs, they managed to find a way to the top of the incline that wasn't impossibly steep. By the time they got there, Blair was out of breath.

"You OK?"

"Hey, man, next time slow down a little. It's not a race, you know."

Jim just smiled and turned to the fence. Sure enough, there was a spot where the links had been cut and pulled back, leaving a hole large enough for a man to get through. As he looked he heard a tiny cracking sound. Turning swiftly, Jim grabbed a handful of his friend's jacket and pulled him forward to more solid ground just as the dead tree root Blair was standing on gave way.

Blair glanced down nervously at the path his fall would have taken. "Thanks, Jim." He stepped over and laced the fingers of his left hand in the mesh of the fence.

Returning his attention to the hole, the detective focused on the jagged edges of the links. It was unlikely that anyone could have squeezed through the hole without leaving a trace. He was soon rewarded with some red fibers, which he placed in an evidence bag. As Jim crawled through the makeshift doorway, he heard Blair let out a sigh of relief. He hadn't been looking forward to climbing back down again.

It was easy enough to follow the arsonist's trail. Broken branches and trampled bushes marked the way, and it wasn't long before Jim found a perfect footprint in a patch of mud. It wouldn't do him any good unless he had a suspect, but he stepped carefully over it, making a mental note to have Forensics get a cast of it. When they emerged from the wooded area, which was deeper than Jim had expected it to be, they were in a back yard about five houses down from the torched one. Jim walked through the yards until he came to the charred remains of the Brickler's home, finding no more clues along the way.

"What next?" Blair asked.

"We'll call Forensics and let them know about the footprint, then go over to the Regency and have a talk with the Brickler's. See if they have any enemies who would do something like this to them. Maybe a disgruntled client, or someone Brickler faced in court."

"Oh, I'm sure a la"Oh, I'm sure a lawyer doesn't have _many_ enemies."

The meeting with the Brickler's was uneventful. They were less upset than Jim expected about the loss of their home. Insurance would cover most of it, they said, although Mrs. Brickler was teary-eyed when she mentioned family photographs and heirlooms that had been destroyed. The phrase 'End Tyranny' rang no bells with anyone, and Brickler could not tie it in with any of his cases. Jim thanked them, then he and Blair headed out for a quick bite to eat, bypassing the expensive restaurant in the hotel in favor of a grungy burger joint. The incident in the parking garage was still fresh in his mind from this morning, so when Blair ordered an inexpensive salad and complained about the price Jim was reminded of one of the first things his friend had said when he came out of his drug-induced coma. Blair had been absolutely convinced that the pizza delivery man had spiked the pizza in retaliation for the lousy tip Blair had given him. Jim laughed to himself as they found a booth and sat down.

"I've got an idea about how we can discover the significance of 'End Tyranny'. Aside from the usual check with the FBI, I mean." He wiped sauce from his mouth with a paper napkin. "You're familiar with the Internet, right?"

Blair grimaced at Jim's meal. "That is _so_ disgusting, man." He was picking brown lettuce leaves and dried up shaved carrots from his salad. "Sure. I'm not an expert on it, but I know my way around."

"There are a lot of fringe groups out there."

Blair took a sip of soda. "That's an understatement."

"So you could look around and see if there are any particular groups that have something against lawyers and have used the slogan 'End Tyranny'"

Blair almost choked on his drink. "Let me see if I've got this straight. You want me to look on the net to find people who don't like lawyers?" He burst into laughter.

"OK, stupid idea." Although computers themselves presented no problems for Jim, he'd never taken much of an interest in the Internet, and he usually deferred to Blair's judgment.

Blair took a deep breath and shook his head. "No it's not, Jim. It's just that with the CDA and people being sued left and right by big companies who want to show their muscle, lawyers aren't very popular there right now. If they ever were. Corporations are trying to take over a place that was once the domain of academics and government agencies. Some people aren't too happy about it."

Warming to the subject, Blair filled Jim in on the history of the Internet, it's original purpose and the commercialization that was taking place in it now. Jim had never had much interest in the net, but Blair was passionate about his subject, so Jim tried to pay attention. It was a losing battle.

"OK, OK, Chief. I get your point. So you're saying it would be almost impossible to find the information there."

"It's possible, it's just a bigger task than you think it is. The person or people responsible for this fire might not even be connected, you know. It may seem like it, but not everybody has a web page."

"Do you?"

Blair smiled enigmatically and ignored the question. "I've got a friend who is really into it. I mean a _major_ computer geek..."

"As opposed to an anthropology geek?"

Blair narrowed his eyes and continued. "I'll give her some background on this and see what she can come up with. She lives for conspiracy stuff."

"You mean Area 51, aliens abducting Elvis, the grassy knoll?"

Blair's eyes twinkled. "No. She thinks Elvis is dead." **III.**

"Hi Audrey. What's up?" Blair entered the cramped efficiency apartment, climbing over piles of papers and boxes full of the skeletal remains of computers. Audrey was the only person he knew who led a more cluttered existence than he did.

"Hey, baby." She didn't taker her eyes from the computer monitor she was hunched over, but held her hand, palm up, over her shoulder. When Blair had finally navigated his way through the room he slapped it lightly.

There was folding chair next to the computer desk, and Blair picked up a large stack of papers from it, dumped them unceremoniously into the nearest box and sat down.

"What are you working on?" Her screen was filled with incomprehensible symbols and numbers.

"Somethin' y'all are better off not knowin' about, considerin' the company you keep these days."

"Gotcha."

"So what do you need?"

"Need?" Blair asked innocently. "I just came here for a visit."

Audrey turned to look at him. Jet black hair framed her delicate oval face. Large brown eyes were hidden behind a pair of thick glasses. She was wearing jeans with holes in the knees and a faded U2 T-shirt with no bra beneath it. "Darlin', you don't come 'round here anymore 'less you need somethin'"

"Did I ever tell you your accent drives me wild?"

"Yeah, I know. The paradox of a southern accent and an intelligent mind just turns you on." Her voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"I'm sorry I haven't been around lately. I've still got a full workload at the university, and I spend a lot of time working with Jim. I can barely find time to eat and sleep."

Her lips turned upward in an evil grin. "Y'all better stop lookin' at me with those sad blue eyes of yours or I won't be responsible."

"How long since you've been outta this apartment, anyway?"

"Too long. Went back to Birmingham a while ago to see mama and my sisters. That was nice, but they're all married and so...so..."

"Domestic?" Blair offered.

"Exactly." She shuddered. "Mama and Gran spent a good deal a time askin' me if I had any beaus. I gave 'em your picture, sweetie. Hope you don't mind."

Blair rolled his eyes. He didn't know whether she was serious or not, but it sounded like something she'd do. "Oh man. I bet they freaked."

"Well, yes. You aren't exactly the model of a fine Southern gentleman they were hopin' for." She giggled evilly. "I think on my next trip I'm gonna take you along with me." She got up and wormed her way expertly through the piles to reach the refrigerator. Blair couldn't tell where the living room ended and the kitchen started. "Want somethin' to drink?"

"Sure." Audrey came back with two no name beers. Blair grimaced as he took one. "On a budget?"

"You know I am. I need some new equipment. I'm not livin' in some fancy loft like you are."

"Come over for dinner tonight. We'll hang out like we used to."

"Ahh, here it comes. Dinner in exchange for....?"

Blair grinned. "A little help on a case Jim and I are working on."

"Oh, so now you're a detective? I thought you were workin' on a thesis, not playin' Sherlock Holmes."

Blair shrugged. "I saw a way I could help him out. He doesn't know much about the Internet."

"Neither do you, sugar."

Audrey knew as much about computers as Blair did about anthropology. He lowered his head. "I bow before your superior knowledge."

"Butter me up any more and I won't be able to concentrate on workin'" She gazed around the room.

"What are you looking for?"

"My bed. I haven't seen it in a while and I'm thinkin' I might need more than dinner." **IV.**

Jim heard laughter coming from the loft as he headed up the stairs. Blair had company. He braced himself to encounter a chain on the door, although that hadn't happened for quite a while. Blair usually found someplace else to go when he planned on getting serious with his dates. His nose caught a tantalizing aroma and he realized that someone was cooking. This might not be so bad after all. He and Blair had been eating out a lot lately.

Entering the loft, he tried to identify the smells. Shrimp, tomatoes, spices, and something he hadn't smelled in a long time; okra. He tossed his keys down and gazed into the kitchen, seeing a striking woman with shoulder length black hair, wearing a tight-fitting black sweater with black jeans and boots. Her face was so pale it was almost translucent. She was stirring a steaming pot.

She turned to him smiling and said, "You must be Detective Ellison. I'm Audrey Drouchat." Walking over to him, she held out her hand and shook it firmly.

"Nice to meet you, Audrey. Call me Jim." Her grin was infectious, and Jim found himself returning it.

"It is a stereotype that all Southerners know how to cook gumbo, but in my case it happens to be true."

Jim glanced at the piles of open cans and dirty dishes littering the counter.

"Don't blame Blair for the mess. I haven't seen my kitchen in months, so when he invited me over and I saw this lovely place I just had to cook somethin'. Hope you don't mind."

"Not at all." Jim inhaled deeply, catching a hint of perfume. "It smells terrific."

"Blair didn't tell me you were so charmin'"

Blair emerged from his bedroom with his laptop and some telephone wire. "Laying it on a little thick, aren't you Audrey?"

She ambled over to Blair and kissed him on the cheek. "You know I only have eyes for you, baby, but you didn't tell me he was so handsome."

Blair rolled his eyes and began setting up the laptop. "Audrey's going to help us check the net for any 'End Tyranny' references."

So this was Blair's computer geek. Jim wouldn't have guessed in a million years.

"...and try to find any groups that hate lawyers." Audrey and Blair exchanged amused looks.

Blair attached one end of the phone line to the computer and then walked over to the wall and inserted the other end into the socket. "Remember to unplug it when you're done, Sandburg. I almost broke my neck tripping over it the other day."

Audrey leaned over and whispered in Blair's ear. "You're right. He is anal."

Jim heard it perfectly and was slightly amused when Blair's eyes shot up to meet his, a pained look on his face. Jim looked levelly back at him and raised his eyebrows.

Blair cleared his throat. "So, ummm, when's the gumbo going to be done, Audrey?"

"Oh, another hour at least. We have time to work on this some."

Jim grabbed a beer while Audrey and Blair finished setting up the computer and logging on, then stood behind them while Audrey began to work. "Boys, I love all the attention, but why don't y'all have a seat in the livin' room? I don't work well with an audience."

Blair hopped off the chair, not offended by her dismissal. As he turned away, Audrey reached out and goosed him. The anthropologist jumped and let out a little yelp, throwing a dirty look at her. Jim thought that things were getting more interesting by the moment.

"She doesn't get out much." Blair mumbled.

"I heard that, and y'all will be payin' for it later."

Jim couldn't think of any way to describe Audrey's smile but wolfish.

While Audrey worked, Jim filled Blair in on what he'd learned from the lab people. It was now definite that the fire had been started by nothing more complicated than a gallon of gasoline and a match. There was nothing traceable in the method used to start the fire. Jim had learned over the years that the simplest crimes were often the most difficult to solve. When a criminal tried to be clever, he usually tripped up and left clues.

No fingerprints were found, either on the mailbox or on the paper that had been left in it, which was not surprising. The typing paper was the most common size and weight. Very cheap, so there was no watermark. A laser printer had been used and it would be almost impossible to match the type with the machine used, even if there had been more than two words to work with.

The FBI was running the phrase 'End Tyranny' through their database and should be able to tell them if there had been any arsons in the United States with similar MOs.

Jim had spent part of the afternoon looking for similar cases in Cascade over the last several years. There had been quite a few arsons, as there always were in big cities, mostly in abandoned buildings. Many had been solved, and of the few that hadn't there were only two that looked like they might be related. One was a fire started in the basement of an insurance company, which had been put out early enough to save most of the building. The other was in a government building that housed offices for Social Security, Medicare, Worker's Comp, etc. That fire had been started in a trash can late at night and had resulted in damage to only one room before the sprinkler system kicked in and put it out. Jim didn't think there was a connection.

"Are you sure about that?" Blair asked.

"No. Why?"

"Well, look at the slogan the arsonist used. 'End Tyranny'. What if this person has a grudge against bureaucracy and authority. Both of those places have a bad reputation as far as most people are concerned. The insurance companies have outrageous rates and unpopular policies, the government offices are huge, slow and full of red tape. They seem like perfect targets for someone with a bone to pick."

"But Brickler is an individual, not a large entity. How does torching his house fit in with your theory?"

"Because he's a lawyer?"

"That's real helpful, Chief, but I see your point. It's possible that the first two fires were bungled attempts to make a statement, and that our arsonist set his sights a little lower for this one. It's easier to set a house on fire than a government building."

Audrey stopped typing for a moment and interjected. "Does your lawyer engage in any copyright work? Anythin' where he might represent a corporation against an individual or small group?"

"Brickler is retained by at least one large company, but as far as copyright goes, I don't know. I'll have to ask him tomorrow, although he may not be very helpful. It's a good idea though."

"'Course it is." She turned back to her work. "Daddy is a lawyer. He's a kind and decent man. It has always bothered him that people lump all lawyers into the same smelly heap, as if none of them had an ounce of compassion or integrity. My father hasn't got a greedy bone in his body. Trouble is, lawyers who are in it for the money or the power can border on bein' downright evil."

"One bad apple..." Blair offered.

"You got it, baby." Audrey shifted in her chair, never taking her eyes from the screen as she spoke. "A preliminary search of your phrase isn't coughin' anythin' up. The word 'tyranny' by itself brings up quite a bit, but those two words together...nothin'. I knew it wasn't gonna be easy. Blair, sugar, do me a favor while I'm workin'?"

"Sure."

"Whip up a batch of cornbread. It's real easy, I'll walk you through it."

Jim leaned back on the couch and propped his legs up, listening to Blair clatter around in the kitchen as Audrey instructed him. He had always enjoyed solitude before he'd met Blair, but the warm cooking smells and the friendly chatter were comfortingly familiar. He'd forgotten that sometimes a little noise could be more peaceful than silence.

"Jim."

He felt someone prodding at his arm and his eyes flew open.

"Hey, man, you crashed. Dinner's ready." Blair was leaning over him, smiling. "You're gonna love this, Audrey's a great cook."

Jim shook the fuzziness from his brain and stood, seeing that the table had been set with candles, a table cloth and linen napkins. "Very impressive, Audrey."

Blair frowned and stared up at him. "Uh, that was me, Jim. Audrey is my guest, even if she insisted on cooking dinner."

Audrey winked at Jim and put her hand on Blair's cheek. "And it was so kind of you to let me. You can pay me back by cleanin' everythin' up afterwards."

Blair caught the exchange and his frown deepened. "Swell."

Jim didn't need any heightened senses to detect Blair's jealousy, but he couldn't help himself. Sometimes teasing the guy was so easy. He walked over and pulled out a chair for Audrey.

"Thank you kind sir." Audrey batted her eyelashes, effecting an even deeper drawl.

Jim grinned and sat down. Blair was right, the food was wonderful and he found himself opening up his senses to appreciate it fully. The smell of the cornbread mingled with the taste of shrimp, tomato and spices. He didn't realize he was losing himself until he felt a sharp pain in his shin. His friend had kicked him just a little harder than was necessary.

Two and a half bowls later, Jim was satiated. He offered to help with the dishes, but Audrey insisted that he relax.

Despite her earlier comment, Audrey joined Blair in the kitchen. By the time they were done it was getting late. Blair still had papers to grade and Audrey had some top secret project she needed to be working on.

"It was nice meetin' you, Jim. I'll keep lookin' for anythin' tyranny related 'n let you know if I come up with anythin'."

Jim shook her hand again, holding it a bit longer than he should have, judging by the look on Blair's face. "Dinner was wonderful, thank you."

The detective tried to maintain an innocent expression as Blair shot him a dirty look and led Audrey to the door. She slid her arms under Blair's untucked T-shirt and around his waist, pulling him close and kissed him warmly on the lips. "See ya 'round, sugar."

Blair entwined his arms around Audrey's waist and pulled her even closer, affecting a southern drawl. "You bet, darlin'." He kissed her back and they both broke into giggles. Blair was grinning ear to ear as he closed the door.

Jim wondered just how well these two knew each other. As Blair turned around with a goofy grin on his face, Jim raised his eyebrows at him.

"None of your business, Ellison." Blair failed miserably in his attempt at a stone face. He walked to his room and shut the door, whistling to himself. **V.**

Blair was in a very good mood as he walked out of his morning class. Audrey always left him feeling that way. Sure, her teasing got on his nerves, and he'd been a little ticked when she had flirted with Jim last night, but he could never stay angry at her for long. She was smart, nice looking, and she chose her few friends very carefully. Blair counted himself lucky to be one of them. If he was forced to admit it, he had a little bit of a crush on her, even though their relationship had never passed the flirting stage.

Flirting. Yeah. With Audrey, it was a high art form. But the kiss last night at the door had felt different somehow, and on a certain level, Blair feared taking the relationship farther.

Good friends were harder to find than dates.

Blair was so lost in his thoughts that he was totally unprepared when Tom Mason grabbed the front of his shirt and slammed him into the wall.

"Stay away from Audrey, Sandburg. I mean it this time. I'm through asking nicely." Tom kept his hand on Blair's chest and balled his other in a fist, lifting it menacingly.

"What the hell is your problem? Just chill out, man." Blair had known Tom for a couple of years, but they weren't what he would consider friends. He had dated Audrey on and off during that time, but it had never been very serious. Well, at least not to Audrey. Blair had always suspected that Tom's feelings ran a little deeper. The fact that the guy was about to clobber him pretty much confirmed it.

"You OK, Mr. Sandburg?" One of Blair's students, a large muscular young man, looked ready to flatten Tom. A small crowd was beginning to gather.

"I'm fine." The last thing Blair needed right now was to be involved in a public fist fight. He looked at Tom pointedly. "You gonna let me go so we can talk?"

Tom growled in frustration and released his hold on the anthropologist. The people in the hallway began to move on. "I want you to stop seeing Audrey."

"First of all, I'm not _seeing_ Audrey. She's helping me out on a project and I invited her over for dinner. Even if I were seeing her, what would it matter to you? I thought you two were kaput."

"Well, we're not, OK? Every time I start to make some headway with her, you show up and she loses interest in me again."

Tom tensed up again, and Blair mentally prepared himself for the blow.

"I'm sure beating the crap out of me would guarantee you a special place in her heart."

"That's not funny. Why don't you just go away and leave her alone?"

"You make it sound like I'm harassing her. She's my friend, and I'm not going to abandon her to make room for you. Whatever weird love/hate thing you two are involved in has nothing to do with me."

"You really believe that? She's crazy about you. If you walked over to her apartment right now and proposed to her, you'd be married before the day was out."

"No way. We're just friends." Blair listened to the words come out of his mouth and wasn't really sure he believed them himself.

"Yeah, right."

The next thing Blair said was closer to the truth. "I'm not into marrying anyone right now, and I don't think Audrey is, either. Have you tried asking her?"

The man's shoulders slumped in resignation. "Several times. The answer is always no."

"Sounds to me like you have some things to work out with her." Blair turned and started to head to his office. He was already late getting to the station to meet Jim. Looking back, he said, "Audrey is my friend. That's just the way things are. Threats won't do you any good, man." **VI.**

Jim looked impatiently at his watch. Sandburg was late again. He sympathized with his partner's insane schedule, but he had a lot to do today and he couldn't wait any longer. Blair caught up with him just as he was getting into the truck.

"Hey, Jim. Sorry I'm late."

"Cutting it a little close, aren't you, Chief?"

"Sorry. Class ran over." Blair plopped into the passenger seat and tried to catch his breath. "Any new leads?"

"Maybe. The FBI turned up a reference to 'end tyranny' in one of their unsolved case files. A judge's house was burned to the ground near Boise about five years ago. A similar, but longer, letter was found in the mailbox. They had a couple of suspects, but there was never enough evidence to convict anyone."

"That's never stopped the FBI before." Blair observed wryly.

"The brother of one of the suspects lives in Cascade."

"That where we're going?"

"Uh-huh."

Earl Durfey lived in what had once been a working class suburb of Cascade. The houses here were nearly identical two-bedroom ranches with single car garages. Only the color of the siding differentiated them. Two of the houses on Ames Avenue were boarded up and abandoned; crack houses that had been confiscated by the city. One showed signs of a recent fire, and Jim made a mental note of the address to check later against police reports. Durfey's house was two doors farther down, a dilapidated place with avocado green siding and a storm door that was missing the screen. Weeds grew up in random clumps, surviving against the odds in the trash-filled yard. A low chain link fence surrounded a patch of yellow grass.

The two men walked through the gate and up to the front porch. Jim knocked and got no answer.

After a few moments he banged on it louder. "Mr. Durfey?"

Jim tensed as he heard the sound of the back door being opened. "Blair, stay here and keep knocking. I'm going around back. Call for backup while you're at it."

Jim pulled his gun from his holster and walked slowly around the side of the house. Focusing in on the sounds, he heard the unmistakable squeak of a door being carefully closed. As he crept along the side of the house, he ducked beneath a window, concerned that there might be someone else inside who would see him. He was so focused on the sounds emanating from the back of the house that he didn't hear the dog until it was almost on him. Jim turned in time to see the Doberman leaping into the air. Instinctively he put his arm up to fend off the powerful jaws, gasping in pain as the animal clamped on to his wrist. His gun fell from his hand and he swung his arm, slamming the dog against the side of the house. The dog retained its grip on his wrist, and he turned to take another swing just as a second dog leapt on him from behind. He was knocked off balance and fell forward to the ground, using his free hand to try to protect the back of his neck from the second dog. Struggling to his knees, Jim yelled out for Blair. The second dog, which had abandoned its attempts to get at Jim's neck and now had a firm hold on the other arm of his jacket suddenly disappeared with a startled yelp. Jim looked up to see his partner wielding a two-by-four like a baseball bat, a look of undisguised fury on his face. The first dog growled and increased its iron grip on Jim's wrist sending sharp jolts of pain through his arm. Blair lifted his weapon and was about to strike the animal when his attention was diverted by the unmistakable sound of a shotgun blast.

"Put that down, boy. Right now." The warning voice and the shotgun belonged to a man of about forty who stood several yards away. He was wearing dirty grey slacks, and a white T-shirt covered with oil stains. A cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth.

Blair wavered for a moment, eyeing the barrel of the shotgun that was pointed at his midsection, then steeled himself and spoke. "Not until your dog let's go of my friend, man."

"You ain't in no position to argue."

The dog had stopped worrying at the leather cuff of Jim's jacket and stood stock still, inquisitive eyes looking up at his master.

"Heel!" The dog released its grip and obediently went to its master's side. The dog that Blair had hit limped over and sat, licking its haunches and whining. Blair sighed in relief and let the board drop to his side. Jim surreptitiously picked up his gun as he stood, holding it out of sight behind him.

"You hurt my dog."

"It hurt my friend." Blair said simply, trying to control the shakiness in his voice.

The man seemed to accept that, but didn't lower the gun. "You're trespassing. What you want?"

Jim made his face a polite mask, as if he were conducting an ordinary interview and hadn't just been mauled by attack dogs. "I'm Detective Ellison, Cascade PD. I'm looking for Earl Durfey."

"What you want with him?"

"We just need to ask him a few questions. Are you him?"

"Depends. What's the question?"

Jim smiled, "Mr. Durfey, my partner here called for backup just a few minutes ago. It would be in your best interest if you weren't holding a shotgun on us when they arrived."

Blair muttered under his breath. "I didn't have time."

Durfey eyed Blair suspiciously. "He ain't no cop."

"There's always a chance they'll shoot first and ask questions later, Mr. Durfey. Why don't you put the gun down?"

The man snorted. "More than a chance. The pigs murder people all the time. Decent law-abiding citizens just trying to protect their rights." He pointed the shotgun at the ground, holding it casually in the crook of his arm. "You come here to arrest me for something I didn't do?"

"No sir, we're looking for your brother, Kyle."

"What you want him for?"

The man was a broken record. "We need to talk to him about a case we're working on."

"I bet."

"So, have you seen him?" Jim heard a rustling movement in the back yard. Whoever had sneaked out the back was still there, watching them.

"Naw. We don't get along too good anymore since he started going to school and acting all stuck up. Thinks he's gonna be president of the NRA some day."

"He goes to Rainier?" Blair asked.

Durfey recognized his slip up and tried to recover. "Naw. He goes to some technical college in Iowa."

Jim holstered his gun in one smooth motion as he produced a card from his jacket with his other hand and gave it to Durfey. "If you do see him, tell him to give me a call."

"Sure." The man noticed the blood trickling down Jim's wrist. "You ain't gonna take my dogs away fer that are you? T'wasn't their fault, they were just doing like I taught 'em."

Jim was focusing behind him, and almost didn't hear the question. A gentle jab from Blair's elbow brought him back. "Put a sign up. And keep them inside or chained up unless you're with them to watch them. If I hear of them attacking anyone else, I'll send Animal Control up here to put them to sleep. Have they had their shots?"

Patting one of the dogs absently on the head, he said, "Yes, Sir. I love my dogs, they get all their shots." Durfey pointed to the tags around the animal's necks and Jim focused in on them, seeing that they were up to date. He breathed a mental sigh of relief, but wondered why a man with anti-government leanings would pay for tags for his pets. Maybe he'd had trouble with the animals before.

Jim handed the man his card and turned abruptly, heading back to the truck. He tossed Blair the keys. "You drive. Someone was in the back yard watching us. I want to know who. Pull the truck around the corner and stop when you're out of sight of the house."

Blair looked at him, unspoken questions on his lips. When he got behind the wheel, he let loose. "What's up? What did you hear? Are you OK, man?" Blair snagged the cuff of Jim's jacket and pulled it toward him, gingerly lifting the sleeve to look at the small puncture marks from the dog's teeth, then fumbled under the seat for the first aid kit.

"I'm fine, we don't have time for that. Drive."

Blair pulled around the corner, parked, then resumed his search for the first aid kit. "You need to wrap that up, and if you don't clean it right away it could get infected even if the dogs have had their shots. Aha!" The young man held up the white plastic box triumphantly. Producing an alcohol wipe and a roll of gauze, Blair hastily cleaned and wrapped Jim's wrist.

The feel of alcohol on his wound hurt like hell, but Jim was too focused on the alley to care. "Hurry up, we're going to lose him."

"OK, OK! Geez, man, you don't want to get bloodstains all over the upholstery do you?" Blair grabbed the medical tape and tore a piece off with his teeth, securing the bandage.

"Finished, Clara?" Jim removed his arm from Blair's grasp and got out of the vehicle.

Blair grabbed the cell phone and hopped out of the car, barely able to control his pent up nervous energy. Jim smiled inwardly. It didn't seem physically possible given the kid's usual state, but fear and adrenaline made the anthropologist even more hyperactive.

"Keys?"

Laughing self-consciously, Blair reached back into the car and removed them from the ignition, shoving them into the pocket of his jeans. Suddenly, his eyes widened. "Oh, I get it. Clara Barton. Red Cross. Ha ha."

The detective drew his gun and started down the alley, focusing in on the cluttered yard three houses down. There were enough bushes, trees and monster weeds in the alley to cover their approach and they would go unnoticed as long as his partner didn't trip over any garbage cans. He heard Durfey call his dogs and the back door swing shut, but Durfey remained in the yard. Now Jim could hear him talking. "Cops're lookin' for you, Kyle. I don't want no trouble."

"You won't have any. Don't worry about it. I haven't done anything and they don't have any proof that I have."

"You sure? I don't want the FBI crawling around like they did when we was in Iowa."

"I'm sure."

"Then why was you hiding back here?"

"Didn't feel like talking to them, that's all. The minute you talk to them, they start trying to figure out a way to hang something on you."

"Ain't that the truth. I thought for sure they was gonna take my dogs away. That hippie boy near killed Bobo. I liked to shot him for it."

"That would've been a bad move, Earl. Just chill out and lay low. This'll blow over in a couple of weeks."

"You know, you don't fool me. Just 'cause you been to college, don't make you any less white trash than I am. You're up to something bad agin'."

Kyle's voice rose in anger. "White trash is somebody who lives in a run down house with auto parts and old refrigerators all over the yard. Somebody who thinks they need Dobermans to protect their worthless garbage. Our fathers may have been the same, but I have good gKyle's voice rose in anger. "White trash is somebody who lives in a run down house with auto parts and old refrigerators all over the yard. Somebody who thinks they need Dobermans to protect their worthless garbage. Our fathers may have been the same, but I have good genes on my mother's side. You, Earl, are an example of what happens when cousins marry."

"Take it back!" There was a grunt and the sound of flesh hitting flesh, and a crash as someone fell. The dogs, trapped uselessly inside the house, began to bark and yelp anxiously.

"You can't even fight, Earl. What the hell happened to you? When we were kids you used to beat hell out of anyone that looked at you funny. Now you're just a big ugly jellyfish."

"All I want is to live here with my dogs and tinker on my cars. I don't want to be worrying about no cops. And I ain't hiding that stuff in the basement no more neither. Get it out. I don't want none of it."

"You're going to have to hold onto it a while longer. I can't exactly store it in my apartment, now, can I?"

"'Guess not. But it ain't legal to have. I could get in big trouble."

"It's only illegal to have it if you've made it into something. Separate, it's just some tools and some gardening supplies."

"I don't have no garden."

"If someone asks you about it, claim you're going to start one. Get some seed packets and a rake to show them."

"That's smart. OK, I'll do that. But I still want it gone quick!"

"All right, big brother, just another week or so."

"Watcha gonna blow up? Post office? Court house? IRS?"

"Who said I was going to blow anything up?"

"I ain't _that_ stupid."

"You just worry about your dogs and I'll worry about my business. 'K?"

"Yeah, sure."

The storm door squeaked and Jim heard Earl retreating into the house. Kyle was heading towards the alley. Jim pushed Blair back behind a bush and waited until the suspect had walked through the back gate, then moved into full view in the alley. "Kyle Durfey?"

The man was about Blair's age, with short brown hair and raggedly cut short bangs. A style that up until now Jim had only seen on ill-advised movie stars. He was shorter than Jim, and thin, like his brother. "Who wants to know?"

If he'd had any doubt that Earl and Kyle where brothers, he didn't now. "I'm Detective Ellison with the Cascade PD. I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"This is a strange place for an interrogation."

"Well, sir, if you'd like to come back to the station, I'm sure you'll be more comfortable."

"Yeah, right. So what's this about?"

"There was a fire this morning at the home of a lawyer named Brickler."

"Sorry, can't help you. Look, I'm going to be late for class. I didn't have anything to do with whatever you're trying to pin on me, and unless you have a warrant, which I don't think you do, I'm leaving."

"If you really want to be arrested, I'm sure we can arrange that for you."

"Piss off." Kyle turned to walk away and then stopped and turned around. "You guys are gonna hound me until I come in, right?"

"No sir, that would be harassment."

"Right. I'll come quietly officer." Sarcasm seemed to run in the family.

Jim spent most of the rest of the afternoon interrogating Kyle Durfey. He didn't get far. Kyle seemed to have an air-tight alibi. Jim used his lie-detecting abilities and found that the man was telling the truth. That, combined with his instincts, told him that Kyle was not involved in the arson. His mind kept racing back to the conversation he'd overheard in the back yard. If Kyle wasn't involved in this crime, he was definitely planning one. Something big, probably involving explosives. Getting a search warrant for Earl Durfey's house was problematic, considering the way he'd come across the information, but Jim did have contacts in the FBI, and he phoned an acquaintance there and filled him in. They were keeping tabs on Kyle, and now they would be keeping an eye on Earl. Reluctantly he released Kyle. Back to square one. **VII.**

It was about 7:00 when the phone rang. Blair was busy writing up notes about Jim's experience finding the hole in the fence. Jim was heavily engrossed in a book. When the older man made no move to answer the phone, Blair sighed heavily and got up.

"Hello?"

"Hey, gorgeous."

"Audrey." Blair's face erupted in a smile. When he noticed Jim looking at him he flushed in embarrassment and turned his back to the detective.

"Can you come over? I've had a little bit of trouble with Tom." Blair could tell by the sound of her voice that Audrey was crying.

Blair's delight turned to anger. "What did he do? If he touched you..."

"No, no. Nothing like that. You know he wouldn't hurt me. Just a lot of yellin'. He left here cryin' and I'm worried 'bout him. Can you come?"

"I'm on my way. Hang in there." Blair hung up and reached for his coat.

"What's wrong, Chief? Did someone hurt Audrey?"

"No, she had an argument with an ex-boyfriend. It's nothing serious, but she's a little upset. Don't wait up for me."

"Take your phone."

"OK." Blair snatched it out of his open back pack.

Blair made it to Audrey's in record time. If Jim had seen the traffic laws he broke getting there, he probably would have revoked Blair's observers' pass. When he got to Audrey's everything seemed normal, but he could see that his friend had been crying. He gathered her in a hug and they stood there silently for several minutes. Finally she pulled back and they made their way to the couch. Blair was amazed to find a place to sit. She must have cleaned up a little for Tom. As he sat, he felt something jab his leg and stood up again, pulling a small screwdriver from between the cushions. Audrey laughed a little.

"This place is dangerous."

Audrey grabbed Blair's hand. "Next time I'll have a crisis at your place."

Blair squeezed her hand as he sat back down, and she lay her head on his shoulder. "So tell me what happened."

"It was about you. You probably figured that, since you saw him this mornin'."

"Oh, man! I tried to tell him..."

"There's no use tellin' that man anythin'. He believes what he believes, and nobody is gonna tell him different."

Blair wondered if Tom would still believe there was nothing going on between them if he happened in now and saw Audrey snuggled against his shoulder. He put his other arm around Audrey and gave her a little squeeze.

"He's jealous?"

"Yeah, but you know, it's been more than a month since I told him I didn't want to see him any more. He's been tryin' to start things up again ever since."

"So what happened tonight?"

"Well, first he came to propose to me. Came with a gorgeous bouquet of red roses and baby's breath, dressed in a tux of all things. I'm ashamed to say it, but I almost laughed when I saw him. Tuxedos do not become him at all."

"Wow."

"No kiddin'. Then he got down on one knee, still outside in my hallway, and professed his undyin' affection for me. He had a ring, a big one. I can't imagine how he could afford it."

"Sounds romantic."

"Yeah, it surely does. It would have been if I'd been madly in love with Tom, but I'm not. I'm not sure I even like him any more. When he asked me to marry him, I had to say no. It 'bout broke my heart."

Audrey's voice shook and Blair put a comforting arm around her shoulder.

"I've always been attracted to him in a physical way, and for a while I really was in love with him, but then he started gettin' possessive. You know me, Blair. I can't stand anyone tryin' to tell me what to do or who my friends should be. Look at me." Audrey gestured to her outfit: navy blue sweats with a large bleach stain down one side, an oversized grey sweatshirt and a pair of white tennis shoes. Her hair was pulled back in a disheveled pony tail. Crying had made her eyes swollen and red. "Do I look like a gentle Southern belle?"

"Not at the moment, but you sure do clean up nice." Blair leered at her suggestively and wiggled his eyebrows.

Audrey sat up and punched him in the arm. "I'm serious, now."

"I'm not sure what you mean by 'Southern belle'. If you mean retiring, shy, polite, and obedient, then no. I always kind of thought of you as a Scarlet O'Hara."

Audrey narrowed her eyes. "I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted."

"Be flattered. I just meant that you're strong-willed and have a mind of your own. I never could picture you with Tom. That guy is such a humorless pud."

"A humorless pud?" Audrey looked as though she were trying very hard not to smile.

"Uh-huh. The guy's got some _major_ problems. So what happened when you said no?"

"He got angry. Said I was 'probably screwing that Sandburg asshole'" Audrey imitated Tom's voice. "He said, 'You know all he wants is a quick lay. He'll leave you once he finds someone prettier.'"

"Nice."

"Yes, all his many charms fly out the window when he's angry. I told him it wasn't true, that you and I were good friends and had been since before I met him, but he wasn't listenin', he'd already made up his mind."

Blair remembered the potentially violent encounter he'd had with Tom this morning. "He didn't hurt you?"

Audrey leaned her head on Blair's shoulder again and put both arms around his waist. "I told you he didn't, but honestly, I was afraid for a moment he would. I've never seen him so angry. When he started sayin' those things about you I told him to leave. Said I never wanted him to darken my doorstep again. That's when he started cryin'. Well, blubberin' might be a better word for it. I know that's a harsh thing to say, but it was almost embarassin'. I prefer men with a little more backbone than that. I mean, he was on his knees beggin' me to marry him, makin' promises there was no way he'd be able to keep. Sayin' he'd change for me, not be jealous any more. When I saw him like that, I knew that whatever I'd felt for him before was gone. I tried to be kind to him, Blair, really I did. I loved him once and I didn't want him to be hurt like that, but he just wouldn't stop, makin' more and more ludicrous promises and grovelin' like a small child. By that time, I was cryin', too, and I think he thought that meant I had feelin's for him. I finally told him I didn't love him any more and he had to leave."

"Did he?"

"Yes, he did, but he looked devastated. I feel like such a bitch."

Blair was fuming. He'd never been particularly fond of Tom, but hearing how he'd tried to manipulate and pressure Audrey really pissed him off. Now she thought it was her fault. "In all the time you were dating, did you ever give him any reason to think it was serious?"

"No. We never dated very regularly, just when we were at loose ends. I always told him I wasn't ready for marriage yet, and that I liked him, but I wasn't in love with him. I said if I ever fell madly in love with anyone, that's when I'd consider marryin' We were never even very good friends. He never had an interest in my work, or much respect for my other friends. I don't know why I spent so much time with him."

"Pheromones."

Audrey lifted her head again. "What?"

There was an urgent knock at the door and Audrey hopped up, giving Blair an odd look as she went to answer it. She opened it to a young man of about 20. He was wearing a tie-dyed bandanna on his head and a Grateful Dead T-shirt.

"Hi, Benny. What's up?"

Blair got up and joined them.

The young man's shoulders were hunched, and he almost cringed as he spoke. "Ummm, Tom's on the roof. I think maybe he's gonna jump. I already called the cops, but he wants you to come talk to him."

Audrey put a hand over her mouth, tears filling her eyes. "Oh my Lord. We're comin'"

When they reached the roof, Blair saw Tom, sitting on the edge of the roof and looking down. It was ten stories to the bottom, more than enough to kill him if he went over. There were a couple of teenagers dressed similarly to Audrey's neighbor standing a short distance away, trying to talk to him.

Tom glared at them and yelled, "Shut up! If you say one more thing to me, I'm gonna to jump. Get out of here." He flung his arm out to shoo them away and Blair saw a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand.

"Audrey, let me talk to him first. Seeing you may not be the best thing for him right now."

"I don't think he'll be too wild about seein' you either, Blair."

Blair knew she was right, but he kept having visions of Tom jumping and taking Audrey with him, or maybe just jumping as soon as he knew she was there to witness it. "Let me try to stall him, OK? The cops will be here in a few minutes, and they'll have someone who knows how to deal with him."

Audrey looked at the drunken man and said, "OK. Thanks, Blair." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Y'all be careful now, understand?"

"I will."

Blair walked up slowly, but in full view of Tom, trying not to startle him. The man was still wearing his tux, although now the tie was gone and the ruffled shirt was loose and unbuttoned. Blair schooled the smile from his face. Audrey hadn't told him the tux was burgundy. With his preppie hair cut, and his bland good looks, Tom looked like a low-rent lounge singer.

"Hey, man, how you doing?"

"Get the hell away from me, Sandburg. You've caused enough trouble. Where's Audrey?" He took a swig from his bottle and looked around. Audrey had ducked back into the stairwell.

"Audrey's not coming. You scared her."

"Aw, I didn't mean to do that. Tell her I'm sorry."

"OK, but why don't you do that? She's right downstairs."

"No!" He sobbed. "The only way I'm leaving here is that way." He gestured to the street below.

Blair was standing several feet from the edge, his vertigo starting to kick in. "Why would you want to go and do that? How's Audrey gonna feel if she has to watch the cops peel you off the sidewalk?"

"She'll prob'ly laugh. She hates me now."

"That's such a load of bull, man. She's your friend, she always has been, but you tried to make it something more, even when she's been telling you all along she doesn't want it. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. There are plenty of women out there who would be more than happy to get their hooks in you."

"Fine for you say. She loves you."

Blair walked casually closer. "Of course she does. We're friends. We love each other, but we're not _in_ love. There's a big difference there, man."

"She doesn't even love me that way anymore."

Tom tilted his head back and took another slug of whiskey, swaying erratically. Right now, Blair though there was more chance that he'd fall off accidentally than jump. Blair felt butterflies in his stomach. He was a lot closer to the edge now, and could see the squad cars and fire department below. "You upset her, but if you get yourself together and try to make it up to her, you might be able to be friends again. She's a very forgiving woman."

"Screw it. What does she see in you anyway? You're short and puny, and you wear glasses. I'm tall and athletic, and a damn good looking guy if I do say so myself. Must be the blue eyes. Women love guys with long hair and blue eyes."

Blair smiled and shrugged. "It helps. Ever considered letting your hair grow out?" He was close enough to touch Tom now, but he really didn't want to try. Where were the cops? They always had someone trained to talk down jumpers.

"Yeah, right. Wouldn't work." Tom belched loudly and said, "I don't feel so good." At that moment he swayed dangerously and started to fall.

Blair leapt forward, his fear of heights momentarily forgotten, and reached for the drunken man's arm, grabbing a handful of Tom's garish jacket. Tom kept going over, and for one sickening moment, Blair thought he was going too, but he dropped to his knees and the low brick wall that surrounded the roof stopped him at the last moment. The drunk's weight pulled Blair's upper body hard against the ledge. Blair heard a grunt as Tom slammed against the side of the building. _Omigodomigodomigod._ The jacket was loose under Blair's fingers, and he could feel it sliding off the larger man's arm.

"Grab my hand!" Far below, Blair could see the flashing red and white lights of the emergency vehicles, then everything started to tilt and he closed his eyes. _I will not have a panic attack now!_ He opened them again and focused on the man who was slowly but surely slipping from his grasp.

Tom looked stupidly up at him, his other hand still holding the whiskey bottle.

"Listen, Tom, man..." Blair adopted his patient classroom voice. "If you don't drop the bottle and grab my hand, you will die. It won't feel good. You're going to hit the sidewalk...oh man..." The ground below suddenly looked very close, and Blair felt his stomach lurch.

_Do not panic!_

"If you fall, it's gonna hurt. A lot!"

The arm of the jacket was almost over Tom's wrist, and Blair gripped tighter, digging his fingers into flesh to try to get some sort of purchase on him.

"Ow!" Tom glared at Blair, then seemed to realize for the first time that he was in trouble. "Oh shit."

_Oh man, I'm losing it._ "Hey, is anybody still up here? I could _really_ use some help." Where were those kids who'd been talking to him just a minute ago? Tom had told them to get lost.

Great. Just great.

As Tom began to reach for Blair's hand, his features changed. He no longer looked frightened, but pissed. "You took Audrey away from me!" Tom swung the bottle at Blair's head, missing completely but managing to drench both men's arms before it went crashing to earth.

The wetness reached Blair's hand and he started to lose his already tenuous grip. "Tom, man," Blair gasped as he used his last bit of strength to swing the man away from the building. "you are a _total_ asshole."

He let go. **VIII.**

Jim entered the station wondering if he should call Blair. His friend hadn't come home last night, but the way he and Audrey had been acting together the other night, it wasn't surprising. He'd probably left for his morning class straight from Audrey's.

As he walked into Major Crimes, Joel walked over and clapped him on the back. "Pretty impressive, Ellison. You must be proud."

Jim raised an eyebrow at the captain, wondering what in the hell he was talking about. He passed Brown's desk and heard yet another comment.

"I didn't know Sandburg minored in psychology. He's a man of many talents."

Ryf nodded. "Stronger than he looks, too."

Brown smiled in agreement. "And a good shot. He hit dead center."

Jim shook his head, "What in the hell are you guys talking about?"

Simon appeared out of his office. "Hey, Ellison, when you see Sandburg, tell him good work. Mason's gonna be in the county hospital for a few days for observation, then it looks like he'll be going back to Pennsylvania to live with his folks for a while."

Ryf chuckled. "He doesn't know about it, Captain."

"What?" Simon's cigar seemed dangerously close to falling out of his mouth.

"Will someone please just spit it out. What was Sandburg involved in last night?" Many things were running through his mind at that second, all of them involved Blair doing something foolish.

"He saved a jumper at an apartment building on 8th."

Brown had a look of awed admiration on his face. "Guy was drunk, and Blair caught him as he fell over the edge. Held him there long enough for the fire department to finish blowing up the air bag. Then he actually swung the guy out and dropped him dead center into it. X marks the spot, man. It was amazing."

Simon chuckled. "Not bad for someone who's afraid of heights."

Brown said, "You should've seen his face. He must've lost a couple of years off his life."

"Who was this guy? What was Blair doing on the roof?"

"It's a long story, Jim. Come on into my office and I'll fill you in."

After Jim was seated and had a cup of hot, almond-flavored coffee, Simon relayed the story. 9-1-1 had received a call about a jumper on 8th, and officers had been dispatched. Ryf and Brown had been nearby, and heard the call. When they got there, they saw Blair talking to the man. The fire department had already arrived and were blowing up an airbag when the man had lost his balance. Ryf and Brown didn't even have a chance to enter the building before Blair started to lose his grip and tossed the man into the bag. The drunk man in question was an ex-boyfriend of Audrey's, according to Blair. Apparently he was reacting badly to a spurned marriage proposal.

"From what Ryf told me, Mason was babbling on about how it was Sandburg's fault and he hated his guts."

Jim was already reeling from the possible things that could have gone wrong. "Did Blair know that?"

"Apparently so. Ms. Drouchat said that she and Mason had argued about her relationship with Sandburg before he left."

Then why in the hell would he risk going out there to talk the man down? Of all the foolish things Blair had done in the past, this was one of the worst. Tom Mason could have pulled Blair off the roof right along with him.

"I know what you're thinking, Jim, but the kid did good. Mason wanted to talk to Ms. Drouchat, and Blair stopped her from going out. He was right not to let her go."

"Why didn't you call me?" What he really wanted to know was why Blair hadn't.

"I figured Sandburg would. It was late before everything calmed down, and his friend was pretty upset. Maybe he just forgot."

Forgot that he'd just saved a man from committing suicide? He'd have to have a long talk with his friend the next time he saw him.

As it turned out, he didn't have to wait at all. Sandburg came strolling in, looking a bit haggard and wearing the same clothes he'd worn the day before. Jim wondered if he'd taught his morning class that way. As Blair made his way through the bullpen, the other detectives came up to him, teasing him and clapping him on the back. By the time he got to Simon's office he was looking puffed up and grinning ear-to-ear. That smile disappeared as he saw the look on Jim's face.

"Oh, hey...Sorry man..."

"You didn't think it was worth a phone call?"

Blair looked down at his feet and shuffled guiltily. "It was 3 a.m. by the time everything calmed down, and Audrey was really shaken up, and I knew you'd be asleep. I meant to call you this morning, but I fell asleep at Audrey's and I barely made it to class..."

"I'm not talking about that. You should have called me as soon as you found out that guy was on the roof."

"What, and waited for you?"

"Yeah."

"He would have been a spot on the sidewalk by then, Jim. I had to do something."

"He could have killed you, pulled you over the side."

"Hey, man, it was fine. He missed me by a mile."

"Missed you?" Jim drew a hand over his face. It just got worse and worse.

"Yeah, um, he tried to hit me with a whiskey bottle, but he was drunk and he missed. Of course, spilling all that booze down my arm didn't help my grip any."

Jim closed his eyes and shook his head. He didn't think he wanted to hear any more of this.

"Hey, I told you I was sorry. There wasn't time to call you. I couldn't let him jump. Audrey would have been devastated."

"So this is about a woman? What if you'd gotten dizzy up there on the roof. I don't relish the idea of having to scrape _you_ off the sidewalk."

"No, Jim, this isn't 'about a woman.' This is about a friend. I don't think Tom was really going to kill himself. He was drunk and obnoxious and trying to manipulate Audrey into changing her mind about him. I couldn't let him do that. She already felt guilty about turning him down."

Simon shook his head. "Dare I ask? How did Mason think he was going to get her to change her mind by pretending to be suicidal?"

"I didn't say he was smart. It's the old 'You'll be sorry when I'm dead' scenario. He thought he could guilt her into loving him."

Jim clenched his jaw and tried to calm down. What a nightmare. Of course Blair had done the right thing, and he shouldn't be angry, but he hated the idea of the kid handling something like that on his own. "You call me next time you encounter any suicidal drunks, OK?"

Blair laughed. "Sure, man. Whatever you say. So, what's up on the Brickler case?"

What was up was that they would have to start over again. As tempting as it would be to hang the arson on the Durfey brothers, Jim was sure they weren't involved. They were definitely up to no good, but he couldn't do anything about it until they made a move. Brickler had provided Jim with a list of people who might have enough of a grudge against him to want to burn his house down. It was a long list. First, though, he wanted to head back to the crime scene to see if he'd missed anything. Something had been nagging at him about it since yesterday, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Maybe going back would jog his memory.

On the way back to Evergreen Hills, Blair filled him in on the events of the night before. In one sense, Jim was as proud of his friend's cool-headedness as the guys at the station, but in another, fearful that Blair might become too cocky in other dangerous situations and get himself seriously hurt. Finally Blair ran out of steam on that subject.

"You don't think I messed up that dog too badly yesterday, do you?"

Jim was lost for a moment, and tried to adjust to the sudden shift in topic. "You did what you had to do."

"I know, but it really sucks. It's not the dog's fault."

"True." Jim had not thought a lot about the events of yesterday, but now they came clearly into focus. Blair had quite possibly saved his life. More proof, not that he needed any more, that he could trust his partner to watch his back. "That's quite a swing you have."

Blair still looked glum. "Thanks."

"Those dogs were trained to attack humans. You don't have anything to feel guilty about."

"I know. And if the situation happened all over again, I'd still pick you over a dog."

"I'm honored."

"You know what I mean. I'm just not into beating up animals."

Maybe teasing him would pull Blair out of his funk. "But impaling them with fishing spears is OK."

Blair sighed in exasperation. "Killing animals for food is a completely different concept than deliberately causing them pain."

"You know, Chief, I don't get you sometimes. That animal, however innocent of malicious intent, was ready to rip my throat out. You stopped it. That should be the end of it."

"Jim, I told you I don't regret helping you. It's more complicated than that. Can't I just be allowed to feel bad for hurting the dog?"

"Sure, Chief, but don't let it eat at you. You've got to try not to let the things that happen on this job affect you like that. Eventually it will wear you down. One of the things you haven't learned to do yet is put some emotional distance between yourself and the cases we work on."

"I know, Jim. 'Check my humanity at the door if that's what it takes to stay present.' "

"Right."

"Well, I've tried and I can't do it. I know it's a huge character flaw, but you're going to have to learn to live with it."

"It's not me I'm worried about."

The conversation ended as Jim pulled up to the guard post at Evergreen Hills. The guard there was not the same one who had been there on his last visit. "Is it Mr. Anklam's day off?"

"What, you mean Bill? Nah. He quit end of his shift yesterday."

"Any idea why?"

"Yeah. I think he asked the boss for a raise, and when he didn't get it he walked out. This job don't pay squat."

The new guard gave Jim's badge only a cursory glance and waved him through. As they pulled up to the ruins of Brickler's house, Blair asked. "What do you think you missed?"

"I'm not sure. Something didn't fit, but I can't quite remember what it was."

"Was it something you saw or smelled?"

"Saw, I think."

The two men got out of the truck and walked up to the now cold remains of the house. There were no workmen here today and no distractions. Blair gestured Jim over to a nearby tree stump. "Sit down."

"I don't need to sit, I need to think." Jim had said that a little more harshly than he had intended. The thought of Blair's close call last night was still fresh in his mind.

"I can help you do that."

"Not every problem can be solved by deep breathing, Chief."

"Well, you haven't remembered it yet, have you?"

"Not with you jabbering away at me."

Blair threw up his hands in exasperation. "OK, man, have it your way."

Jim wandered aimlessly around the ashes and debris, trying to recall the elusive clue. He knew Blair was watching him, and it just made him try harder to find it. It could be very frustrating when the kid was always right. "Dammit!"

Blair smiled calmly and asked, "Ready to try it my way?"

Jim thwacked his partner lightly on the side of his head. "Don't gloat, Sandburg, it doesn't become you."

Blair grimaced in imaginary pain and pulled at his earlobe, looking for all the world like a small child with his hand caught in the cookie jar. "Ow!"

Jim sat and Blair squatted in front of him. "Any idea where you saw it, whatever it was?"

"I think it had something to do with the ravine." Jim closed his eyes and took a deep breath that was filled with more exasperation than calm.

"OK, picture yourself standing at the bottom of the ravine. Play it back in slow motion, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Like you did when you were trying to remember Jack's phone message."

As Blair waited silently, Jim began to think, picturing everything that had happened two days ago. He saw the ravine, the trees and undergrowth on the steep incline, the clipped links of the fence...

"That's it!" Jim stood and walked through the backyard, headed toward the path the arsonist had made.

"What?" Blair stood and followed, running to keep up. "What, man? What did you remember?"

Jim kept going, trying to preserve the idea that had just occurred to him. He followed the rough path through the bushes, registering briefly that Forensics had indeed been back to get an imprint of the muddy footprint. When he reached the fence, he stopped and focused on the cut links.

"Jim? C'mon, you're driving me crazy here. Tell me what's going on."

"It's these links, see? The way that they're cut. Someone made this opening from inside the fence, not outside." Jim crouched down and ducked through, looking down to the bottom of the ravine. "I can see the path you and I took climbing up, but there's nothing else."

"Maybe we took the same path?"

"No. When I replayed it in my mind there was nothing to indicate that we weren't the first people to climb up here in a long time. With all that undergrowth there would have been plenty of broken branches and flattened plants if someone else had gone this way, and with all the recent rain there would have to be some footprints on the way up. Whoever did this wanted us to think that they came through here."

Blair looked excited, "And the only reason to do that is if they came in through the front gate."

"Exactly." Jim waited for his partner to put the next puzzle piece together.

"And the guard who we spoke to that day just quit, and he was on duty that night."

"Yep. Looks like we have a suspect, Chief."

**To Part II**


	2. Chapter 2

**IX.**

Blair was uncomfortable. This was going to be one of those things Jim told him he should distance himself from, but he didn't think he'd be able to. They were at William Anklam's home to question him about the arson, but Anklam wasn't there. His wife and kids, however, were, and Jim was getting ready to ask some difficult questions. Jim was almost certain now that Anklam was responsible for the arson. They'd done a check on the guard, and found that he'd been in a legal tangle with his insurance company and the Bureau of Workman's Compensation for the last three years trying to get compensation for a work injury he'd suffered then. Apparently he'd fallen off of a roof while he'd been on the job and had suffered serious back injuries. Although he could function almost normally, his injuries were severe enough that he'd never be able to do any kind of heavy physical labor again. Apparently the BWC and the insurance company were refusing him payment because someone claimed to have seen him drinking beer during lunch the day of his fall. Eventually, Anklam had tried to sue everyone involved, including the bar he'd had lunch at and his employer, but had failed at that as well. Brickler had been the bar's legal representative.

In a few minutes, Simon and some other men would be arriving at Anklam's house with a search warrant, and his children would be there to watch. Blair leaned over to whisper to Jim as Mrs. Anklam went to get coffee. "Don't you think it would be a good idea to get the kids out of here before the fun starts?"

Jim seemed surprised and a little chagrined, as if the thought hadn't occurred to him. "Of course. You're right, Chief."

When Mrs. Anklam returned, looking nervous and upset, Jim asked, "Is there anywhere you could send your kids for a few hours?"

Blair felt his heart skip. The woman looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Whatever her husband had done, she looked completely unprepared to deal with it.

"Y-yes, of course Detective." Mrs. Anklam gathered her children, and over their objections arranged for them to spend the night at their aunt's house two blocks down. When she had quickly bundled them off, she returned to the living room and sat down.

Jim asked the nervous woman about the history of William Anklam's troubles with the BWC and his insurance company. Apparently they were over their heads in debt from the hospital bills. They had been trying to make regular payments, but the checks hadn't been big enough, and now their creditors were starting to get nasty. Illegal or not, the collection agencies that their debts had been handed over to were becoming increasingly ugly, and had even spoken to their daughter on the phone once, telling her that her father was a dead beat. The kids weren't allowed to answer the phone any more. Last month, their car had been repossessed, and in two weeks their house was going to be foreclosed on because they could no longer make their mortgage payments.

Mrs. Anklam began to cry. "We were doing so well. We had money in the bank for the kids to go to college, we had a house and a decent car. Then Bill had his accident and no one would help us. He was so angry and depressed. He started drinking after the insurance company denied his claim. He swears to me that he never had a beer at that bar. He said they were mistaken and just trying to find a way to get out of paying him. He hasn't been able to find a job that pays as well as construction did. He's not well educated. He's been getting a lot of minimum wage jobs, but there are some things he refuses to do. A man's got to have his dignity, you know? It's gotten worse since we found out the credit union is going to take our house from us. He barely speaks any more. Yesterday he demanded a raise from his bosses at the security company, but they refused and he quit. I don't know what we'll do now. I've been working two jobs but it's barely enough to pay for a sitter for the kids while I work. I haven't seen him since last night. He said he'd kill himself before he'd ever allow us to go on welfare."

The woman dissolved into sobs and Blair got up to get her some water. It was a shitty situation for what seemed to be a decent, hard-working family. He could totally sympathize with their plight. His upbringing had left him with a deep suspicion of the power held by large government agencies and huge corporations. He knew some of it was unfounded, but he also knew that it wasn't uncommon at all for innocent people to be hurt by the mountains of red tape and bureaucratic bullshit that those places were famous for. No wonder this guy had been driven to extreme actions. It reminded him of a story he'd read about in the papers, where a guy in Ohio had gone to the BWC office and held a shotgun on the office people there until they wrote him a check that was years overdue. It was wrong to resort to violence to solve a problem like that, but he could sympathize nonetheless.

Blair filled a glass with water and returned to the living room, kneeling next to Mrs. Anklam and handing her the water and a box of tissues. He felt totally ineffectual and wished there was something he could do to help her.

There would be no help for the Anklam family today, though. Just as the woman finally began to get herself under control, Simon arrived with the search warrant. The house was soon full of officers going through every inch of the house. Anything that was sacred or private to this woman was going to be manhandled by strangers. Blair felt sick to his stomach. Simon had ordered the men to take it easy in their search, and to try not to break anything. Even so, this woman would never get over what was happening in her home. Jim was looking through the papers in Anklam's desk, and seemed to be either unaware of or ignoring the devastation he was taking part in. Blair couldn't take it anymore, and he turned and left, not sure what direction he was heading in, but needing to get as far away as he could. He didn't want to have any part in this.

* * *

**X.**

Jim had been going through the papers on the desk for about fifteen minutes before he noticed that Blair wasn't around. He looked all through the house, asked the other cops if they'd seen him, checked outside, and still found no sign of him. He wasn't in the truck, either. Jim didn't know whether to be worried or angry, so he settled on both. The last thing he needed to be doing now was hunting for Blair. Who knew what Anklam was up to?

Why would Blair have left without a word? He only did that kind of thing when he was upset about something. Then he remembered Mrs. Anklam, sitting in a corner, gazing at the chaos around her with a look of lost anguish. He should have known Blair would be bothered by this. Jim had become so inured to the unpleasant necessities of his job that he forgot what it must look like to someone who wasn't used to it. What was happening in this house probably seemed harsh and unfair to someone with Blair's sensibilities. And he'd be right. This was the kind of situation where Jim's ability to distance himself emotionally came in handy. A defense that Sandburg didn't have and probably never would.

Jim told Simon he was leaving and got into the truck. Blair was probably walking in the direction of home, if he knew which direction that was. Jim had noticed that his friend had less trouble navigating in Cascade than in the woods, however, so he headed towards the loft. It was already getting dark when he caught up with Blair. The young man was walking with his head down and his shoulders hunched against the growing chill. Jim pulled to a stop in front of him.

"Hey, Chief."

Blair looked up, no expression at all on his face. "You didn't have to come after me."

"I know."

"You pissed?"

"I was. I'm not any more."

Blair nodded and walked over to the passenger side and got in.

They drove in silence for a few more miles before Blair finally spoke again. "All that back there, it really sucked, you know?"

"Yeah, I know." Jim decided to let Blair open up at his own pace. He could tell by his friend's demeanor that he was deeply disturbed by what had happened.

"That woman absolutely did not deserve that. Having her house turned upside down by a bunch of insensitive cops..."

"Blair, you know that's just..."

"What, a defense? A shell you guys climb into so you don't have to feel anything? Well you know what? That sucks too. Why should you stop feeling guilty about it? If you do, if you close yourself off from the people you're supposed to be protecting, then what good are you? You just turn into the pigs my mother thinks you are. Jack-booted thugs who run rampant through innocent people's lives without ever realizing how much you're hurting them."

Jim knew that Blair was lashing out at him because of his own feelings of helplessness and that knowledge took the sting out of his friend's harsh words. "William Anklam is hardly an innocent man, Chief. He burned another family's house to the ground. How do you think they felt to have all of their worldly possessions reduced to ashes?"

Blair's hands were in his lap, picking at the edges of his jacket. "I know that. But what about Mrs. Anklam? What about her kids? All this happened because of some greedy insurance company that didn't want to pay for a few hospital bills. Their lives are destroyed, and you and I just had a part in destroying them."

"I'm not going to give you some platitude about how life isn't fair, but I want you to remember something. No matter what happened to this family, and no matter how much you think they were wronged by the 'system', arson is not the answer. Firemen get killed in the line of duty. How would you have felt if one of them had died putting out the fire? Would your attitude about Anklam have changed then? I'm very sorry that his family is being hurt by all of this, and none of it is fair, but William Anklam is as much responsible for it as anyone else."

Blair was quiet for a long time, contemplating what Jim had said. "They seemed like nice people, Jim. What's wrong with the world if all of this was caused just because one person in an office somewhere decided not to sign a check?"

"It's a world where people make mistakes. Everyone is human. We could find out in the end that Anklam _was_ drinking the day he fell off the roof. How would that change things? Would this situation be any less difficult to deal with?"

Blair didn't seem to have an answer for that, and Jim couldn't think of anything else to help his friend through this. Academic life had left Blair wise about many things and incredibly naive about others. This was one of the painful lessons, and Jim wished he could find a way to take the sting out of it.

"I make it harder on you, don't I?"

Jim was surprised by the question. "How so?"

"Well, you spent years learning to deal with stuff like this and I come along and mess it up for you."

Jim thought about it for a moment. "That's true, but I think I'm grateful for it, actually. You remind me what I'm in this job for."

"Really?"

"Yeah. If you hadn't been there, I would have been completely oblivious of the fact that Anklam's children were in the house. It honestly didn't occur to me that they should leave."

"You had your mind on the case."

"It's no excuse. You kept me from doing something unforgivable." When Blair didn't say anything, Jim continued. "When I joined the force, it was right after I got out of the army. I didn't have any noble goals in doing it, it just seemed like an appropriate job given the skills I had learned. By that time, I'd already built up a lot of defenses. It's only since I've known you that I've seriously begun to look at my job from a human perspective."

Blair shook his head adamantly. "I don't believe that. You're selling yourself short."

"I don't think so, Chief. You have some very high opinions of me, but sometimes they're misplaced. I'm not perfect, you know."

"Yeah, I know."

Jim looked over, expecting to see a smile on Blair's face, but there wasn't one there, and it hurt a little.

"Jim, I've seen you treat people with a lot of compassion. Maybe you get caught up in the cases sometimes and forget, but you aren't as bad as you think you are."

Jim pulled to a stop. "We'll do the best we can to find Anklam before anything else happens. So far, he hasn't done anything to hurt anyone, and with the extenuating circumstances, maybe he won't spend much time in jail. There really isn't anything we can do for his family. They'll probably lose their house, but they seem strong. I'm sure they'll work something out."

"I hope so, man."

* * *

**XI.**

Lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling, Blair waited for sleep he knew wouldn't come. Jim had tried to talk to him again after they'd returned to the loft, but Blair didn't want to talk about it any more. He felt depressed and empty and wanted to push it all out of his mind. Is this what Jim feels? Is this how it starts? Not being able to deal with the consequences of your own actions and in trying not to think about it, building up a thicker and thicker wall until no one can get inside? He didn't want to be like that. But what could he do? He couldn't take away the pain the Anklam's were feeling. He didn't have any money to pay off their debts. There was nothing he could do to help make their lives right again.

And what was really bugging him about this anyway? Technically, no one had done anything wrong. Jim was following police procedure to catch a man who had committed a crime. Simon and the other men hadn't trashed the place when they executed the warrant, in fact, they'd all been very polite to Mrs. Anklam. But Blair still felt like he'd taken part in violating the woman. It was the lack of emotion, the coldness of the action, that bothered him. And he hadn't been any better than Jim. He'd watched what was happening and he'd run away from it instead of apologizing for it and trying to give the woman some comfort. His feeling sorry for himself would not make Mrs. Anklam feel any better.

With that guilty realization, Blair drifted off to a less than sound sleep.

Blair woke up, still feeling tired, to the smell of hot coffee. Last night he'd felt too confused and upset to eat, and his stomach was grumbling loudly. His mood was better than it had been yesterday. Some time in his mostly sleepless night he'd made a decision about what he was going to do. He quickly showered and dressed and dug into his breakfast.

"I'm going to go back to the Anklam's and apologize." Blair looked at Jim as he took a bite of his bagel, wondering what he'd think of the idea.

"Are you sure you want to do that, Chief? She may be pretty hostile. She's gotta be riled about the search."

"I know that, and I'm prepared for it, but I have to do something. I have to let her know that no one enjoyed doing that to her. Maybe I can find some way to help her and her kids."

"Sounds like you're entering dangerous waters. You don't really know anything about these people, and now you want to get involved in their lives?"

"We already did that last night, man. I just want to, I don't know, let her know that there are people who actually care what happens. Does that sound stupid?"

"No, it doesn't. A little naive, maybe."

"I can't just pretend it didn't happen. I haven't got it in me."

"I'd rather you waited on that until after Anklam is in custody. I don't want you stumbling into a bad situation. There's no telling what he'll do if he comes home and finds you there."

"OK, sure." Blair finished his bagel. "So what's on for today?" It was Sunday, but Blair assumed they'd be working on the case.

"I had an idea. Anklam has probably figured out that we're looking for him by now. If he's really as angry as his wife said, then maybe he'll try to hit someplace else before he's caught. We know he's already tried the BWC office and the insurance company. Maybe the success at Brickler's house will make him risk it again."

"That doesn't leave much, except for the credit union. Didn't Mrs. Anklam say they were foreclosing on the house soon?"

"Yep. That's our best bet. Our chances of catching him there are pretty slim, but it's worth a try."

"C'mon, are you kidding, man? You have the luck of the Irish. If anybody's gonna catch someone red-handed it'll be you."

Jim laughed and shook his head.

"That reminds me, we never did take that vacation to Vegas, and we still have those blessed dice..."

* * *

**XII.**

The drive to the credit union took about 20 minutes, during which Blair commandeered the cell phone to check up on Audrey. Jim deduced from listening to Blair's side of the conversation that the young woman was doing well, despite the trauma of having her ex-boyfriend try to throw himself off the roof. Jim had finally come to the conclusion, despite appearances, that Audrey and Blair had never been involved in a romantic relationship, but were only good friends. Jim still held out hope that someday the kid would settle down enough to have a lasting relationship with a woman, and Audrey seemed like a good candidate for that. She was funny, independent, smart and he suspected that she wouldn't let Blair get away with anything. More than once, he caught Blair blushing during the conversation, as if Audrey had been flirting with him again.

Blair ended the call as they pulled up to the credit union. Everything seemed all right outside so Jim focused inside, listening for any unusual sounds but not really expecting any. He was surprised when he heard the shuffling of papers and the sound of something being knocked over. Jim got out of the truck and gestured to the phone. "Call it in, Chief. There's someone inside."

An alley led to a parking lot behind the credit union and Jim headed for it, assuming that if anyone had broken in it would be there. As Jim crept cautiously toward the back entrance, Blair finished his call. The kid was so close behind him he could feel breath on his neck. The door had been jimmied open, but no alarms were going off. Jim assumed that Anklam had figured out how to disarm it.

Jim stopped and sniffed the air. "I smell gasoline."

"You think he's going to torch the place?"

"Yeah."

Jim focused inside the building again, trying to locate the man, but could find no sign of him. He heard Blair's shouted warning just as a deafening explosion sounded next to his ear and the world exploded into stabbing lights and searing pain. All of his senses seemed to be on overdrive as time slowed. He felt his legs give way, and Blair's hands clutching too tightly at his arm to keep him from falling. Each individual piece of gravel caused sharp pain to shoot up his legs as his knees hit the ground. Blair's heartbeat had gone from elevated to skyrocketing. Anklam stood down the alley, a look of fear and anger on his face, beads of sweat standing out above each pore, his hands shaking with the slightest tremors. While Anklam's breathing was heavy and labored, Blair's appeared to have stopped. The man had begun running towards them. Every detail of the gun pointed at Jim etched itself in his memory. Jim tried to lift his gun hand, but it felt too heavy and he realized that he had continued to fall. There was heaviness and warmth and a familiar heartbeat at his back as his guide fell with him. The jarring impact of his shoulder hitting the ground reverberated through his body, until it felt as if even his bones had sensed the shock of it. Blair yelled, a sound filled with fear and anguish, nearly splitting his eardrums with its intensity. As Jim's head hit the ground, all input stopped.

* * *

**XIII.**

"God, Jim, no!"

Blood was gushing from the wound on Jim's head and Blair dug frantically in his pockets for a handkerchief, looking up to see William Anklam stalking angrily towards him, gun in hand. Blair panicked and grabbed for Jim's weapon, but he wasn't fast enough. The man kicked it away and struck Blair across the face, momentarily stunning him.

As Anklam pointed the gun at his head, preparing to end his life, Blair couldn't think of anything to say but, "Please."

Anklam stopped, apparently shocked by the plea. He looked up and down the alley. This part of downtown was largely uninhabited on Sundays. Waving his gun at Jim, he said, "Bring him inside."

Blair did as he was told, shaking so hard he was barely able to put a coherent thought together. He felt Jim's pulse before he dragged him through the doorway. His friend was still alive. Blair stumbled several times, each time fearing that the man would shoot him for it. Then other thoughts began invading. Gasoline. What if Anklam intended to leave them in here while he set the building on fire? Oh god, he didn't want to go through that again. He'd gained a new phobia after rescuing Jim from Tommy's.

A sudden paralyzing fear struck Blair. Flames seemed to be everywhere all at once. Not normal flames, these were alive, jumping and flickering and slowly resolving themselves into human form. They were coming for Jim, he knew it. Blair had to protect him...

"C'mon, I said move it!"

The hand that jerked the back of Blair's jacket had also pulled him back into the present. Not certain which reality was better, he blinked several times before he began to move again.

"In there." Anklam roughly turned Blair toward the manager's office.

Blair pulled Jim in until he was lying next to a large oak desk. There was a couch in here, with throw pillows, and Blair instinctively grabbed one and put it beneath Jim's head. He pulled off his jacket and put it over Jim to keep him warm, expecting at any moment that Anklam would stop him. When he did nothing, Blair grabbed several cloth napkins and a carafe of water from the coffee station, and began to clean up Jim's wound. There was a lot of blood, but that was natural for head wounds, wasn't it? He sighed with relief as he saw that the bullet hadn't entered Jim's skull. It had caused a deep gash though, and Jim was unconscious. Not great, but at least there was hope. He held the napkin to the wound and absently stroked Jim's arm, desperately wanting Jim to wake up. Blair looked up at Anklam wondering what he would do next.

"He gonna live?"

"No thanks to you!" Blair was shocked at the venom in his own voice, and quickly changed his tone. He could almost hear Jim in his head. _Calm down, Sandburg. You're going to get us both killed._

"Please, you don't have to kill us."

"What kind of man do you think I am?" Anklam sounded angry until he realized what he'd just said. "Never mind." He looked at his gun and seemed to remember something. "I'm leaving for 10 seconds. If you even breath in that time I will kill you both." He spun and left the room.

Blair couldn't stop his hands from shaking, but he knew what he had to do. The cell phone was still in his jacket pocket. He'd never had a chance to return it to Jim. Blair leaned over Jim and grabbed for it, hitting the speed dial for Simon's number and dropping it to the floor behind him as Anklam returned. He had retrieved Jim's gun and was now stuffing it into his waistband.

The part of Blair with a minor in psych tried to size Anklam up. Physically, the man wasn't that imposing. He was heavy set, shorter than Jim with a beer gut. He was wearing blue jeans, work boots, and a long-sleeved pocket T. His hair was cut short, and he had a two-day growth of beard. His eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. His wife said that he'd started drinking after the accident. The guy could be nursing a hangover right now, which would not work in Blair's favor. Obviously, he regretted shooting Jim. There was a tremendous look of guilt on his face as he gazed at the fallen detective, but he also looked sweaty, nervous, and angry. It could be a dangerous combination. Blair hadn't had any training in dealing with unstable people, but he'd met plenty of them in his travels with Jim. He needed to get this guy to trust him.

"My name is Blair Sandburg. Jim and I met you for a second when you were on guard duty the other day." He started to reach his hand out, then realized it was covered with blood and quickly withdrew it.

"Why should I care?"

Blair shrugged nervously. "I dunno. I thought it might help you make a decision."

"What decision is that?"

"Well...ummm...it's harder to kill someone once you know their name, isn't it?"

"I told you, I'm not that kind of man."

"That's good to know."

Anklam greeted him with stony silence.

"You ought to just leave. I called for backup when we got here."

Anklam regarded him with disbelief. "I haven't finished what I came here for."

"Oh, man, I have a thing about fires. Don't leave us in here when you torch the place, OK?"

Blair moved closer to Anklam, putting himself between the gun and his unconscious friend, and hopefully blocking the view of the open cellular phone behind him. Simon had to be hearing every word now, if the call had gone through. At least the backup would know they were in trouble now.

"Why are you doing this, man?"

"I think it's obvious. My wife probably already told you about it."

"Yeah, but you're not some nut case, or criminal, or wife-beater. I mean, did you just suddenly wake up one morning and decide you could solve all your problems by burning down some buildings? Or shooting cops?"

"I'm sorry about that. I saw him coming, and I panicked. Besides, it's the only way I can get anyone to listen."

"Well, I'm listening. Tell me what's going on."

"You're a cop. As bad as the rest of them."

"Actually, no, I'm not. I'm just a police observer. An anthropologist."

The man tilted his head at him for a moment. "You make a lot of money doing that?"

Blair smiled and shook his head. "No way, man. I'll be paying off college loans until I'm 70."

"So why do it?"

Blair glanced at Jim's still form and struggled to suppress his anger. "Because I love it. Because it's fascinating and important. Because I get to meet interesting people like you."

Anklam snorted derisively. "I bet. You make enough to live, though."

"Yeah."

Reaching for the chair behind the desk, Anklam wheeled it in front of the office door and sat down, gun still trained on Blair. "Well, that's all I want. I worked hard for twenty years as a construction worker. I made good money, had a house and a decent car, and then I hurt my back and I couldn't do it any more. Now the only work I can find is as a security guard for some wannabe rich people. You know what I made standing around all day in that little cubicle?"

Blair shook his head.

"Minimum wage. Minimum wage! These people spend millions on their homes and cars and fancy shit, but they can't afford to pay me a decent wage. All I want is to have enough to live."

"Sounds reasonable."

"Yeah, but I can't get it. I should be getting a monthly check for my back injuries. It's what's owed to me, and it's been tied up in red tape for the last two years. I can't support my wife and kids, and they're gonna foreclose on my house if I can't come up with the mortgage payment."

"So you tried to set the credit union on fire?"

The man was sweating and agitated and began waving his gun around. Blair cringed, fearing it would go off. "It was all I could think of. I was desperate. There isn't any more time left to straighten it out the normal way. I thought maybe..."

"Maybe what?" Blair felt Jim stirring behind him and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Maybe the records would be destroyed if I burned it down. That they wouldn't be able to foreclose if the paperwork was gone."

"You had to know they have backups of those kinds of records."

Anklam blinked a few times. "Yes. I don't know. Maybe. I didn't think about that. I was pissed."

Jim moaned and Blair turned to look at him. The bleeding had stopped, but now there was swelling near his temple. Before he could turn back to Anklam, he felt the cold metal of the gun barrel against his neck. "Get his handcuffs and cuff his hands behind his back."

"Hey, man, he needs a doctor. Why don't you leave him here and you can take me with you as a hostage in case the cops come around? You could probably still get away. You don't need Jim. He's a cop. A good one. He wakes up and he'll have that gun away from you in five seconds flat, handcuffs or not."

The man was quiet for a few minutes, then pressed the gun even harder into Blair's neck. "OK, then. Put _your_ hands behind your back."

Blair did as he was told and felt the cold metal snap around his wrists. His heart felt like it would pound right out of his chest. He thought he could talk this guy out of what he was doing, but he was so on edge, ready to crack any moment. Anklam had to be thinking he had nothing left to lose.

"Get up."

Blair stood and was pushed towards the exit. Had there been time for backup to arrive? Blair hoped that Simon had heard enough to warn them. Anklam pushed the door open and Blair squinted at the brightness of the morning sun.

"Drop your weapon and lie face down on the ground." It was a voice Blair didn't recognize. As his eyes adjusted he saw one squad car in the alley, front doors open, with an officer squatting behind each one. As he looked at the guns pointed at him , he hoped they realized he was a hostage.

A gun was pressed against his temple. The officers certainly didn't have any doubt now. "Nobody move or I'll blow his brains out."

Blair bit his tongue, suppressing the urge to comment on the originality of Anklam's threat. He was starting to learn that being a smart ass in a stressful situation was not always wise. What would Jim do in a situation like this? Well, for one thing, he wouldn't get himself into a situation like this. But if he did, what would he do? He'd seen hostages in the movies drop to their knees to give the cops a clear shot, but he really didn't want anyone to die. Besides, the man had a pretty good grip on the back of his shirt. He'd probably get shot before he hit the ground.

"Sir, please. Just put the gun down, and no one will be hurt."

Another car pulled into the alley, and Blair recognized it immediately as Simon's. This second arrival made Anklam even more upset and he yanked Blair back into the doorway and fired off a wild shot in the direction of the captain's car.

Simon's voice yelled urgently, "Don't return fire!"

Blair's stomach lurched.

Simon stood out in the open with his hands in the air. "Take it easy, sir. Just tell us what you want."

Torn between going back into the credit union and trying to make a break for it, Anklam started to pull Blair inside and then stopped. "I want your car." He pulled Blair close and put the muzzle of the gun under Blair's chin, moving slowly down the alley. They neared the end of it, and he could see that there were several other squad cars parked on the street. The officers were all crouched down, only the tops of their heads and their guns visible. Anklam noticed at the same time and stopped edging toward Simon's car.

They were only a few feet away from the captain now. "How yoThey were only a few feet away from the captain now. "How you doing, kid? Anyone else in there?"

"Jim. He's been shot."

Anklam looked nervously out onto the street and then reversed his direction, heading back to the building.

"Where are you going?"

"I have to think." He yanked Blair back inside and slammed the door shut, then spun Blair around and hurled him against the door. "How did they know I was here?"

"I told you man, I called for backup before you shot Jim!"

Grabbing the front of Blair's shirt, Anklam dragged him into the manager's office where Jim still lay, unmoving and unconscious again, pushing him roughly. Blair lost his balance and fell beside the cell phone. Anklam instantly noticed it and picked it up, listening. "Who's there?"

He waited a moment, and getting no response, shouted, "I'm gonna blow a hole in this kid's head if you don't answer me right now, damn it."

Anklam listened again. "You have this number?....good...I want you to call me back in 15 minutes and I'll give you my demands...He's alive, but I swear to God, he'll be the first to go if you piss me off." He listened again and slammed the phone shut, looking at Jim with frustration. "He must have woken up long enough to call for help. Damn cop, I should have known." He pointed the gun at Jim. "I ought to kill him right now. That would sure get their attention."

"No, wait!" Blair tried to move between Anklam and Jim. "Look, man, you aren't thinking this through. You kill him and there's no way you're getting out of this alive. Killing a cop is stupid. Besides, _I_ made the call. Look at him, he's half dead, you really think he could have done it?"

Blair shook himself. _That last statement was just exaggeration, man. You're OK, Jim. You're gonna be fine._

"For the last time, I'm not going to kill anyone." Anklam looked tired and angry as he sat in the chair again. "Half dead. Jesus, I'm in deep. You made the call? I thought you understood what I was going through, but you're a liar, just like all the rest of them."

"I _do_ understand, man. It's just that you scared the hell out of me, you know? And you shot my best friend. I don't want him to die."

The man looked at him suspiciously. "You're probably not even an anthropologist."

"Yes, I am. I can prove it. I have a University ID and an observer's pass in my wallet."

Anklam shook his head. "Never mind."

"You're still a liar. No better than the rest of the people who've dicked me around for the last two years."

Setting his face in a mask of sadness, Blair said softly. "I know you have to convince yourself of that so that if you have to kill us you won't feel as guilty."

"Give it up. Psychology isn't going to work on me."

OK, so Blair wasn't going to win any Oscars for that performance. "Sorry. I just think that before today, you probably never considered killing another human being."

The man's anger abated and he looked down at his gun in frustration. "What the hell am I doing here?"

"You know how these things end, man. You either give up or they'll kill you. There's no chance you'll actually get away. So let's just pack it in, OK?"

"And no one will get the point of all this. No one will know why I did this and more guys like me will get screwed by the system." Anklam looked dejected.

Think, Sandburg, think. What does this guy _really_ want? A light bulb went on over his head. "Make some demands."

"What do you mean? Like you said, no way I'm getting out of here unless it's in handcuffs or a body bag."

"Not that kind of demand. Ask to speak to the local TV and radio stations. There's got to be one of them, _at least_, that won't worry about how unethical it is to let you make a live statement while you have hostages."

The man thought about it for a while. "Yeah. You've got a point. But I'm not very good at speeches."

"Just tell them your story, start to finish. I understood it, everyone else will."

"How will I know it's live? They could just set up something to look like they're filming. I know how that works. Those cops out there are going to do everything they can to get me out of here without giving me what I want. Trouble is, I'm not stupid or crazy, and it's gonna be harder for them this time."

"You could demand a TV or radio, you know, so you can verify it."

Anklam sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "It might work. Jesus, I need a drink right now."

"They'll probably make you give them one of us in exchange for all that you know."

"You've earned it. I'll let you go."

"No, not me. I want you to let my friend go, so he can get some medical attention."

"You'd do that for him?"

"Yeah. Jim's saved my life more than once. I owe it to him. Besides, he needs to get out of here more than I do. It'll be better for you if he gets to the hospital and fixed up. You don't want to give yourself up later and find out there are a bunch of pissed off cops out there."

Anklam peered through the blinds of the office window and noticed the growing number of emergency vehicles gathering outside. "I'm gonna have to do that, aren't I?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't want it to come down to this. What are my kids going to think?"

"Maybe, if they're old enough, they'll understand that you were pushed too far, and you lost control, but that when you realized what you'd done, you tried to make it right. Better that they have a father who's alive and spending some time in jail, than a father who killed two people and was shot down by the cops, right?"

"I guess. This thing got out of hand so fast. All I wanted to do was make them listen to me. How hard would it have been for them to just listen?"

"I don't know, man. It's like, these companies get so big, you know? The trail of paperwork gets longer and longer, and someone upstairs always wants to cut costs, and then you've got the peons who deal with the public all day, they can't do anything to help anyone, because their superiors won't allow it, eventually they become so bitter that they don't care any more. People end up getting screwed."

"Yeah. They've got all these rules, and once they make a decision, it's final. They won't consider changing their minds, no matter what you say. Do you know how it feels to try to get through to people who don't understand what you're talking about?"

"Ever tried to get a grant? Yeah, I've got an idea."

Anklam took a long look at the unconscious cop on the floor. "You two are good friends, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Doesn't seem like a likely match."

Blair looked fondly and not with a little concern at Jim. "That's the beauty of it."

* * *

**XIV.**

Jim could hear voices, and he knew it was urgent that he reach them, but he couldn't seem to swim up from the dark well he was in. It was comfortable here, the pain a distant pinpoint near the top. Something about the voices was important, though he couldn't quite remember what. Blair's voice was there, his guide, talking to someone. No fear in his voice, just a conversation. Everything was under control. He could slip farther down into the well for a little while.

* * *

**XV.**

"Where in the hell is the SWAT team? They should have been here 20 minutes ago!"

Simon stood at the command center feeling increasingly frustrated. Jim and Blair had risked everything to rescue him and Daryl from Peru, and now he was forced to stand here ineffectually while their lives were in the balance. Jim had been shot, and Simon only had the look of worry on Blair's face as a gauge of the severity of his injuries. At least he hadn't seen death in the young man's eyes.

Brown was speaking to someone on his cell phone, then covered the mouthpiece and told Simon, "There was a major pileup on the interstate. An overturned fuel tanker. They couldn't get through. It's going to be another 20 minutes at least before they can turn around and take another route."

"They're caught in traffic?!?" Heads turned at Simon's bellow of disbelief. Simon slammed his hand against the hood of his car. He wished he had Jim's instincts. If Sandburg had been in there alone, Jim would be geared up and climbing through the heating ducts by now. He'd never wait on backup. Simon didn't have Jim's skill, and he'd never realized how much he depended on it until now. At least Blair was in there, talking to the guy. He allowed himself to hope that Blair was using his charm to talk some sense into the distraught man. Simon had come to realize that Blair was almost as adept at resolving a crisis as Jim, although each took their own unique path to a solution. Sandburg's use of Jim's cell phone to warn Simon of the situation was one more reason to hold out hope for a happy ending.

"It's 15 minutes, sir." Brown handed the phone to Simon. It was already ringing through.

"Yeah?"

"This is Captain Banks. Are you ready to talk?"

"Yes. We've got a plan."

We? Simon wondered if there was an accomplice he didn't know about. "Let's hear it."

"I'll let Blair tell you."

So they were on a first name basis now. That was encouraging. "Hi, Simon."

"Hey, kid. How's Jim doing?"

"A concussion, I think. We need to get him out of here, but listen, I've got that covered." Simon listened in awe as Blair outlined the plan. He'd managed in the few short minutes he'd been inside to arrange for Jim's release and Anklam's eventual surrender. It only required the press, who were no doubt tied up in the same traffic jam as the SWAT team. Blair seemed certain that if the plan was followed everyone would come out in one piece.

"When will Jim be released?"

"After we have a TV set and we see one of the TV stations covering the story."

"It may be a while before the press gets here." Simon explained the situation, and listened to muffled voices as Blair relayed the information.

Anklam got on the phone, and shouted. "Bullshit! You're lying to me."

"Look, we can get you a TV set right away and you'll see that I'm not lying."

"I want it in here in 15 minutes. Any longer and I'll start putting holes in people." Anklam started to hang up, then said. "You know, I got the impression you were this kid's friend."

"I am," Simon admitted.

"Then why are you screwing around and endangering his life? You get me what I want. 15 minutes. Where's my wife?"

"On her way."

"Blair said you'd probably call her. I don't want you bugging my kids. I hear you've been bothering them, or the press has been bothering them, and I'll end it all right now. Believe me, you won't be happy."

"We'll send some officers to keep the reporters away."

"OK, then. Fifteen minutes."

* * *

**XVI.**

"I think he was telling the truth," Blair offered as Anklam slammed down the phone.

"Why's that?"

"'Cause he sounded pissed and exasperated. More than usual, I mean." Blair was sitting on the floor again. His arms were beginning to ache from being behind his back. "Hey man, can I have my hands cuffed in front of me? I'd like to check on Jim."

Anklam thought about it for a moment. "OK. You realize if I allow this that I'll be that much quicker to pull the trigger if I think you're gonna pull something?" Anklam reached for the keys.

"No need." Blair went through a series of contortions, involving dragging his cuffed hands under his butt and legs, and in the end, his hands were in front of him.

"Shit, man, I couldn't even do that when I was a teenager."

Blair shrugged. "My mom is really into yoga."

"My mother never exercised a day in her life. Taking care of kids was her workout."

"I was an only child. How many brothers and sisters do you have?"

"Five brothers and seven sisters."

"Wow."

"Yeah. I'm the youngest. Number 13. Cursed from the day I was born."

Blair thought about it a moment, confused. "I don't understand. If you've got such a large family, then surely they can help you out, make sure you don't default on your loan."

Anklam sat up straighter. "We weren't brought up to ask for handouts, even from family."

"But that's what they're for, isn't it? To help you through the rough times, and then later, when they need you, you can return the favor." It seemed so simple, Blair didn't see how the man could have missed it. "You're on speaking terms with them, aren't you?"

"Of course I am. I love my family. But look, they always tried to take care of me, 'cause I was the last kid. The baby. I was coddled and pampered until I was 18 and I hated it. When I left home, I did it to make it on my own. There's no way I'm going to go crawling to them for help now."

"This is about pride? Your wife and kids are being destroyed by this."

"Don't lecture me!" Anklam poked the barrel of the gun at Blair's chest. "You have kids? You have a wife? I didn't think so. Don't you dare tell me how to treat my family!"

Blair backed down, intimidated by the anger in the man's eyes. He'd been lulled into thinking that the guy was not a threat, that he just needed to bide his time until Jim was out and everything was over. The fact was, this man had a bad temper, bad enough that he shot Jim. If Blair wasn't careful, things could still turn out badly.

"OK, I'm sorry. You're right. Speaking of family, I'm gonna check on Jim, OK?"

"You related?"

"Not by blood. Aside from my mom, he's the closest thing to family I've got, though." Blair wanted to make that connection clear, so that maybe Anklam wouldn't be as quick to turn the gun on Jim.

The bleeding had stopped, but the swelling had continued. Jim had a very large lump there now. Blair felt his pulse, not really knowing what it should be, but it seemed strong enough. He wanted to try to rouse Jim, but he didn't think Anklam would be too keen on the idea. Head injuries could be serious, and Blair prayed that Jim wasn't suffering any brain damage that could have been prevented by a quick trip to the hospital. "You're gonna be OK, man." Blair said it more to assure himself than on the off chance that Jim might hear him, so he was surprised when Jim opened his eyes.

"Blair?" His voice was weak. "What's going on, Chief? Did I oversleep?"

Blair didn't have to look up to feel Anklam hovering over him with the gun. "No, man. It's Sunday. You get to sleep in, remember?"

"Oh, good. I'm beat." Jim looked at Blair and smiled vacantly before he closed his eyes and drifted off again.

The salt of tears stung Blair's eyes for the first time since the ordeal had started. He'd been suppressing his fears for Jim because he knew that's what Jim would do. Don't panic until everything's under control. It was his responsibility to make sure Jim was safe, but he found himself suddenly wishing that Jim could take charge. He'd have this all over and done with in a few minutes. Unbidden, another thought crept into his mind. _Yeah, it would be over in a few minutes and Anklam would be dead._ Blair shuddered and dismissed the thought as unworthy of himself. Angrily, he wiped the tears from his eyes and turned to face Anklam.

"I really think we should let him go now."

"What's this 'we' crap? We aren't partners here. I decide who stays and who leaves. Right now, I'm thinking you should leave."

"No!" Blair tried to suppress his anger. "You said you'd let Jim go. You promised he could go to the hospital."

"I learned a long time ago that promises don't mean shit to most people. You're a good guy. I want you to go."

Blair shook his head adamantly. "I won't do it."

"You don't have much of a choice."

"Yes I do. I'll go kicking and screaming, man. I am _not_ leaving him alone."

"Decision's already been made. You're young, you're decent, you're not part of the system. I don't have a beef with you."

Blair felt the heat rising to his face, and all thoughts of his personal safety flew out the window. No way was he going to let Anklam keep Jim here. "Bastard. You're as bad as the people you whine about. You say you'll do something, but when it comes down to it, you do what you want. Screw you!"

Anklam regarded him calmly, but said nothing.

Blair said defiantly, "I'm not leaving him here."

"You. Don't. Have. A. Choice."

"Yes, I do. I know Simon and all the guys out there. You kick me out, and you won't have anyone to run interference between you and some mightily pissed off cops. Jim is useless to you because he's totally out of it. You need me to live through this."

"I don't need you. I'll do fine on my own."

"So, what this means is, like, you _want_ to die. Right? 'Cause that's the only way this makes sense to me."

"You're worried about your friend, right? So I'll promise not to hurt him. I wasn't planning on hurting anyone when this started, and I'm sorry I shot him. That make you feel better?"

"No. Look, you have to understand, man. Jim, he's always there for me. He's saved my life, literally, at least half a dozen times since I started working with him. Right now, he's injured, and neither of us are doctors so we don't know how bad it is. You said you didn't want to hurt any one. I believe you. But what if he needs surgery? What if, by keeping him here when he should be in a hospital, he dies or suffers brain damage? Listen, you don't know Jim, but he's a decent, principled man. Someone I admire, and someone I think you'd respect if you knew him. He doesn't deserve to die. Let me stay. Let me do this one thing for him."

Anklam looked at Jim for long minutes before he spoke again. "Hope he knows what a good friend he has."

"Thank you."

Shaking his head in wonder, Anklam almost smiled. "Jesus, you're stubborn. Do you always get what you want?"

Blair just shrugged. He was getting tired of all of this. If he knew Jim was safe he could deal with the rest of it, but just now he'd seemed so out of it. Jim, who was always in control, not knowing where he was, completely vulnerable and helpless. No, Blair didn't like seeing Jim this way, and he was beginning to feel less sympathetic toward Anklam by the minute. Stressed or not, he had no right to go around shooting people. In some ways he was worse than the criminals he'd met who either had no conscience or didn't apologize for their actions. This guy knew better but he did it anyway.

The trill of the cell phone got his attention.

"You have my TV?...OK, here's what's going to happen. You send an unarmed man, wearing a T-shirt so I can tell he's not hiding any guns...OK, we're coming now...No, not until the news crew gets here."

Anklam gestured at Blair to get up, then grabbed the back of his shirt, holding him close and using him as a shield. The gun was under his chin again. It was starting to get sore, and he wondered if he'd have a bruise. Blair supposed he'd be lucky if he came out of this with only a few bruises. Taking one last look at Jim, he wondered what would happen if the detective suddenly regained consciousness while he was alone in the office. If he was clear-headed enough, he'd probably figure out a way to get them out of this mess.

Blair was pushed to the front door and almost gasped as he saw the number of squad cars, ambulances, and other emergency vehicles outside. Simon had even thought to call for a fire truck, figuring that Anklam might try to burn the place down. Of course they would make a big deal about rescuing Jim, he was the best detective on the force. To Blair's surprise, it was Simon carrying the TV set. He'd taken off his suit jacket, dress shirt and tie, and was wearing a T-shirt and his slacks. Maybe Simon had a plan. Blair wished he knew how these things went down, wished he could read Simon's mind and know what he was supposed to do.

"Unlock the door," Anklam commanded, moving the gun and pressing it into the back of his neck as Simon arrived.

Blair reached forward with his cuffed hands and unlocked the door, then pushed it open. Simon entered, staring Anklam straight in the eye.

"Turn around slowly." Anklam looked closely for any sign of a gun. "OK. Lock the door again." He kept his eyes on Simon, but the gun still pointed at Blair. "Bring it into the office." Anklam nodded toward the room where Jim lay. "Set it on the desk."

Simon did as he was told, sparing only a brief glance at Jim before he put the set down.

When Simon's hands were free, Anklam pulled Blair in tighter and shoved the gun hard under his chin again. He hissed. It was really starting to hurt.

"I'd like to check on Detective Ellison's condition before I go."

Anklam tensed, and said warily, "You don't worry about that. His friend is taking care of him just fine."

Simon's gaze lit on a pile of blood-soaked napkins. "I've had some first-aid training. It looks like he's lost a lot of blood."

"It's a head wound, they do that. He's still breathing, that's all you need to know."

Blair could feel the tension building in Anklam. Simon's presence was making him really nervous. "Hey, let him do it. It can't hurt, right?"

"Keep out of this, kid." Anklam pressed the gun harder under Blair's chin. "I don't trust you, Banks. I want you out of here."

Blair's mind delivered an unwelcome vision. The barrel of the gun was resting against the flesh of his chin, trigger pulled, bullet flying through the metal chamber, ripping through flesh and tongue and finally making a criss-cross path as it ricocheted through his brain. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, banishing the thoughts that threatened to reduce him to a quivering blob.

"How are you doing, Sandburg?"

Blair opened his eyes and looked at Simon. "OK, Sir," he lied. "When is the news crew going to get here? Jim needs to go."

"Any minute, kid."

"Time for you to go." Anklam watched as Simon headed for the door, then followed behind.

Blair felt a sense of isolation and helplessness as he watched Simon walk away. He realized then that the successful resolution of this whole situation rested entirely on his shoulders, and he didn't know if he was up to the task. It startled him to see that only an hour and a half had passed since he and Jim had first pulled up to the building. It felt like days, and fatigue was beginning to creep over him.

Thankful at least that the gun had finally been removed from his face, he returned to the office and set up the TV. It was still morning, and all he was able to find on the local stations was religious programming, no sign of the wreck or his current plight on the news.

"I knew they were lying about the accident."

"Maybe it wasn't bad enough that they're running continuous coverage. Relax for a few minutes."

Blair took a seat on the floor again, tuning out the sound of a minister preaching against sin. It was too much to hope that somehow the show would fill Anklam with regret and he'd give himself up. Instead, he focused on Jim, who was still breathing steadily. All this time and he still hadn't really regained consciousness. That meant the injury was probably serious, right? But Jim wasn't as pale as he had been, and Blair sensed that he wasn't completely out of it anymore. He seemed to be hovering just below the surface. Blair wondered if his injury was being intensified by his senses. Jim had been focusing pretty heavily on his hearing at the time he was shot, so the sound of the gun going off must have been excruciatingly loud. As he watched Jim, Blair saw his eyes start to move beneath their lids. He was either asleep or waking up and Blair wanted desperately to talk to him, to help bring him out of it. Very softly, hoping the sound of the TV would hide what he was doing from Anklam, he began to speak to Jim.

* * *

**XVII.**

He'd zoned out again. That hadn't happened in a while. At least, not this seriously, but Jim could hear Blair, speaking to him in a soft, urgent voice. What had he been doing? Someone was inside the bank, and he was trying to pinpoint the intruder's location. That was it. But then, why did his head hurt so much? More importantly, why couldn't he make himself come out of it?

"Jim, man, you have to wake up."

Blair's voice was a little more than urgent, he realized. There was a plaintiveness in it that wasn't usually present. And something underlying it all. Fear? He wondered how long he'd been zoned. He was probably scaring the kid half to death. Jim knew he ought to try harder to wake up.

"They're going to come to take you to the hospital soon and they won't know how to deal with you like this. Snap out of it."

The hospital? Why? Jim tried to make his brain grasp the situation. Something had happened. Something more than a zone out, but he couldn't seem to get a hold on it. With one final effort of will, he struggled to open his eyes. He succeeded.

Blair's face was hovering above his, and Jim saw tears forming there. Jesus, he really had scared him. "Blair?"

Jim's voice was so faint, even he barely heard it. He realized that he was lying on the floor and wondered if he'd zoned out badly enough to pass out.

"Oh man, I am so glad you're awake. I was afraid you were gonna croak on me."

Jim tried to say something, to ask what was going on, but he didn't have the strength. Now that he was awake, it was harder to ignore the intense pounding in his head.

"Don't try to talk. Take it easy." Blair suddenly disappeared from view, and Jim tried to follow him with his eyes. There was someone else with him, and they were having an intense conversation.

"No way, man. He's hurt. You are _not_ going to tie him up."

"I have to."

"Look at him. He's in no condition to jump you. Besides, the news crew will be here in a second and he'll be outta here."

Jim heard the other man mumble something. A few seconds later, Blair knelt down next to him and asked, "Can you lift your head? I have some water, but I can't do two things at once."

As Blair held a water glass to his lips, he noticed Blair's hands cuffed together. "What's going on?"

Tears appeared in the anthropologist's eyes again, and he quickly blinked them away. "You've been shot, but everything's going to be OK. As soon as the news crew gets here to film his statement, he'll let you go."

Who's statement? Something was wrong with what Blair had just said, but Jim was having trouble sorting out what it was. The damned pounding was interfering with his ability to think. Blair could fix that. "Head hurts."

"No doubt. You up for some breathing exercises?"

What Jim really wanted was to climb back into the comfortable darkness he'd been inhabiting, but something held him back. Something was terribly wrong here and he needed to figure it out. Blair was smiling at him encouragingly, telling him to breathe, but all he could see now was a darkening bruise high on his partner's left cheek. "You're hurt."

"I'm fine. You aren't concentrating, Jim."

"What's going on?"

"Everything's under control. I've got it covered. Trust me."

_I've got it covered._ Blair had used that expression before. Jim remembered it vividly. Blair on the hood of a squad car, shooting at fire people. But then he'd sounded off balance, slightly deranged. Now as his partner said it, Jim could feel the confidence in the statement. Taking some comfort in that, and feeling safe in his friend's care, Jim gave up the battle for consciousness.

* * *

**XVIII.**

Blair had intended to ask Jim what to do, how to handle the situation, when he'd come to, but it didn't take a brain surgeon to figure out how badly the detective was hurt. There was no way he could lay this all on Jim's shoulders in his condition. He'd just have to figure it out for himself. Jim had yanked his butt out of the fire more times than he could remember. Of course, Blair _had_ returned the favor, literally, not too long ago. Still, Jim needed him, was depending on him. It was a heavy responsibility, but instead of scaring him, it gave him courage. Sometimes it was easier to stand back and let Jim handle the tense situations, and Blair was more than happy to let him. After all, that was what he did best. It didn't mean Blair couldn't take care of things by himself if he had to.

Simon had called and announced that the news team had arrived just as a special report had popped up on the TV. They briefly mentioned that traffic had returned to normal after a tanker had overturned, then went on to report the hostage situation. Anklam told Simon that he could come and get Jim. Blair breathed a sigh of relief. He checked Jim again. His pulse was still steady and his breathing was OK. He seemed to be hovering in a semi-conscious state, and Blair worried that he might still be zoning.

"Hold on, Jim. Help is on it's way."

Anklam pulled him up again and steered him to the door. Blair felt a sense of euphoria wash over him. Jim was going to be OK. Everything was going to work out fine.

Simon and Brown were outside, both in their T-shirts and carrying a stretcher. They smiled encouragingly at Blair, seeing the relief on his face. They returned to the office, where Simon and Brown put a neck brace on Jim, then carefully placed him on a backboard.

"Simon, he was zoning out a little. Make sure he's OK, you know, breathing exercises and everything." Blair knew he was being cryptic and had probably sparked Brown's curiosity, but it was important and he couldn't think of a more subtle way to put it.

"We'll take care of him, Sandburg."

When Jim was ready, Simon straightened and looked at Anklam. "There's still time to let him go and call it a day. Your wife is here, and she is not a happy woman."

"Tell her I'm sorry. I'll come out as soon as we do the interview. I'm a man of my word."

Simon sighed heavily. "Look, Mr. Anklam, I can't lie to you. The TV crew is reluctant to come in here. You've shot one man, and they're afraid. I can't in good conscience force them to come in here to talk to you. In effect, I'd be giving you two more hostages."

Anklam tensed and unconsciously tightened his grip on Blair. "This is bullshit! I knew you guys were going to pull some kind of crap like this. I suppose you want to send a couple of _your_ guys in with the cameras? Well, I'm not stupid, and unless I see Don Hass in here in five minutes, things are going to get ugly."

Blair wondered if Anklam had the strength to push the gun straight through his skin.

"Wait!" Blair was finding it difficult to speak. "I have an idea."

The gun suddenly eased up. "Spit it out."

"Just have them send the camera in. I know how to work one, and I can interview you. You know, a remote. They don't have to be here just to hold the camera, right?"

Anklam agreed, and Simon and Brown took Jim out to a waiting ambulance. Blair sighed and tried to steal himself for what was next. He only had to worry about taking care of himself now, something he was pretty good at. The euphoria was gone, though. When Simon had walked away before, he'd felt lonely. Seeing Jim carried away he felt as if someone had just removed his safety net.

* * *

**XIX.**

Captain Joseph of the SWAT team was waiting for Simon again when he came out. He tried to ignore him and concentrated on getting Jim to the waiting ambulance. His best detective had lost a lot of blood, and was unconscious, possibly in a coma. Simon was in no mood to deal with Joseph, who had a reputation for being trigger happy.

"Captain Banks, we've had several clear shots of Anklam. I'd like permission to take him out."

Simon ignored him until the ambulance had pulled away. "Sandburg's got things under control in there. I'd rather have this end without any more bloodshed if at all possible."

"Anklam already shot one of our own. I don't see how that kid..."

Simon bristled. He'd seen Jerry Dorsey talking to the captain before, probably filling his head with stories about drug use and criminal tendencies. "Sandburg _is_ one of our own, in case you hadn't noticed."

"He's just an observer, "He's just an observer, he doesn't have the experience..."

"Don't underestimate him. He got Ellison out of there and he's already convinced Anklam to give himself up as soon as he makes a statement. I think he's doing a damned good job, don't you?"

"Yes, sir. But this man is an unknown. He could go nuts and kill Sandburg anyway."

"It's possible. Look, I didn't get a chance to say much to the kid, but I know him, and I know how he thinks. He wants to try to get Anklam to come out on his own. He's the one in the hot seat, it's his call. Keep your eyes open. If the situation changes we may need you, but right now we have a good chance of resolving this peacefully."

Simon turned away from the man before he could protest further and corralled Ryf. "Keep in touch with the hospital. I want to be updated as soon as you know about Ellison."

"Yes sir. The news crew says they'll be ready for the live feed in about 20 minutes."

"Why is it taking so long? They can do a live shot of a cat caught in a tree in under 5. They stalling?"

Ryf looked at his watch. "Maybe they're waiting for the noon news."

"Unacceptable. Commandeer the equipment if you have to. I'm taking it in there in 5 minutes."

* * *

**XX.**

Anklam seemed calmer now that Jim was gone. Things had the feeling of winding down a little.

"Maybe you should think about what you're going to say."

"You're going to ask me questions, right? So I'll answer them."

Blair had scooted back against the wall, trying to relax. If he could make it seem as if everything was going well, maybe Anklam would pick up on the vibes and chill out a little himself. "Yeah, it would probably come across better if you were just honest. Try not to get too pissed, though. You'll lose credibility if you start yelling."

"Why are you helping me out?"

Studiously moving his gaze past the dark spot on the carpet where Jim's blood had soaked it, he looked at Anklam. "Because you have a point. What happened to you wasn't fair, but your tactics for resolving it really suck."

"You should want to break my neck for shooting your friend."

"Believe me, the thought has crossed my mind."

"So," Anklam repeated the question. "Why are you helping me out?"

Blair remembered his conversation with Jim the night before. "Character flaw."

Before they could discuss his faults further, the phone rang. It was Anklam's wife. Blair watched as the man's composure crumbled. He could relate. Family had a way of bringing suppressed emotions to the surface. When he finally hung up, there were tears rolling down his face.

"You OK, man?"

"What do you think?"

"She's angry, huh?"

"No, it would have been easier if she was. She was crying. I let her down."

Blair couldn't think of anything to say to that.

"How long do you think I'll get?"

"Hmmm?"

"Prison term. How long?"

"Oh, man, I couldn't even begin to guess. I spend a lot of time with Jim out in the field, but when he's got court, I usually give it a pass. There's a lot of extenuating circumstances, though. Maybe if you get a good lawyer it won't be too bad."

"Right. They don't give harsh sentences for shooting cops and holding hostages." Anklam ran a hand over his face again. He looked tired and defeated. The anger seemed almost gone. "This could have been so different. It was just one beer, and the accident would have happened if I'd had it or not. That's what kills me. The safety harness I was using was faulty. When I slipped, it didn't stop me. They said I didn't attach it properly because I'd been drinking, but that's bullshit. Everyone was so busy trying to lay the blame on someone else that they never stopped to think about me or my family. If I hadn't had that drink, they probably still would have claimed that I screwed up, but they would have paid. One beer was all they needed to wash their hands of responsibility. The lawyers had a field day."

"So that's why you burned that house down."

"Yep."

"Did it make you feel better?"

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, it gave me some satisfaction. Have you ever met Steve Brickler? He is the most smug little asshole you've ever laid eyes on. I don't think I'll ever regret giving him some of his own back."

"There's one thing I don't understand."

"What's that?"

"Well, why did you put that piece of paper in the mail box? That sounded like a slogan for some right-wing, anti-government group. It just doesn't fit."

Anklam narrowed his eyes in confusion. "What in the hell are you talking about?"

"In the mail box. The piece of paper with "End Tyranny" typed on it."

"I don't know what you're talking about, but I wouldn't be surprised if there's more than one person after Brickler. Like I told you. The day he dies, he's taking the elevator straight to the basement."

Blair and Anklam watched the news reports for a few minutes. There was continuous coverage of the situation on all of the local stations now, and Blair recognized Don Hass standing outside the bank in front of a TV camera. The man exuded false concern and seriousness. The only mention of Jim was that an injured hostage had been released and taken to the hospital. There was no word on his condition.

"No news is good news, right?" Blair asked hopefully of no one in particular.

"He'll be OK. He looked tough."

"You don't know the half of it."

Simon rang in and announced that he was bringing the camera equipment. He was allowed inside long enough to go over the basics of operating the camera with Blair. As he left, Simon informed Blair that the hospital had called, and Jim would pull through. That statement disturbed Blair. Simon hadn't said he'd be fine, or it was only a mild concussion, just that he would pull through. _Oh God, don't let him have brain damage._

Anklam had to remove Blair's handcuffs so that he could use the camera, and Blair felt relieved and a lot less vulnerable now. Still, the man had a gun pointed at him, and he couldn't let himself get too cocky. Anklam might still lose it when it came time to give himself up. Blair already knew something about operating the camera, although not as much as he had let on. His knowledge, along with what Simon had told him was enough so that he could do a passable job. He'd received a headset so that he could communicate with the news truck. It didn't surprise him to find that Simon was also plugged in.

"I'm with you now, Sandburg. If anything starts to give you a bad feeling, let me know, OK? Oh, and there's someone named Audrey out here who says that she'll bear your children if you make it out of there in one piece."

Blair suppressed a laugh. "OK. Do we have to do anything to test this out?"

One of the news crew chimed in and gave Blair a set of instructions. As they got closer to going live, Anklam began to show his first real signs of nervousness.

"You have got to chill, man. Just talk to the camera like you were talking to me earlier. Tell your story, and what led to this. Just be yourself and people will believe you."

Anklam calmed a little, then combed his hands through his hair to try and make himself more presentable. Blair had to admit, he did look like an ordinary, working class guy. A little rough around the edges, but not a raving looney. After a halting beginning, he told his story much as he had told it to Blair, this time filling in more details. The nervousness was replaced with anger and frustration as he detailed month's of court dates, red tape, stonewalling, and flat refusals to help. Then he talked about his family, and their suffering, the foreclosure on the house, and his attempts to find a decent job. Blair knew that a lot of the viewers in Cascade would feel sympathetic. Blair really didn't have to ask him many questions. Once he got started, he was on a roll.

At the end of his speech, Anklam apologized to his wife and children, and to Jim. The cynical part of Blair thought that this was going to look really good at Anklam's trial, the rest of him was glad it was almost over.

When he had finished his apologies, Anklam shifted his gaze from the camera to Blair. "That's it."

Blair switched off the camera. "Good job, man."

Simon spoke in Blair's ear. "Ask him for his gun."

"Yeah, great." Anklam was unenthusiastic. He looked down at the gun in his hand. "Could they see the gun on TV?"

"No, I kept the camera focused above it." _Mostly._

"Thanks." Anklam continued to stare at the floor, eyes drifting to the blood stain by the desk. This was the moment of truth. When he walked out the door, he'd walk straight into the arms of the police, and probably wouldn't be a free man again for years.

"It's time to go out, man. Umm, Simon asked if you could give me the gun."

It didn't occur to Blair, when Anklam reached out to hand the gun over, muzzle first, that that was a _bad_ idea. Not until he heard the loud crack as a sniper's bullet burst through the window and hit the wall just above Anklam's head. Blair screamed and dropped to the ground.

"Ohshitohshitohshit."

Anklam fell right next to him, breathing heavily. "They tried to shoot me!"

"It was the way you were holding the gun, man. Give me the cell phone."

Anklam handed it over, too shocked at having almost been on the receiving end of a bullet to argue.

"Simon! What in the hell is going on, man?"

"You OK?"

"We're fine, he was just giving me the gun. Can you, like, put a _major_ leash on the SWAT guys, please?"

"Calm down, Sandburg. They thought he was about to shoot you."

"They haven't been paying any attention to what's been going on in here, have they? They aren't planning to storm the place or lob any tear gas in here, are they? Because, I gotta tell you, this morning has been exciting enough already. Hold on."

Blair put his hand over the mouth piece and looked at Anklam. His momentary fright had given way and he was looking at one pissed off man with a gun. Now would probably not be a good time to say anything patronizing.

"So, uh, what do you want to do?"

"I don't know yet. Give me the phone." Blair handed it over. Anklam took a deep breath and said in a quiet, menacing tone, "You fucked up." Then he disconnected.

Blair felt his stomach lurch.

"Don't worry, kid, I'm not going to hurt you. I don't know what I'm going to do, but while I think, I'm going to let those assholes out there stew for a while."

* * *

**XXI.**

"What in the flying hell was that all about?" Simon stood before a red-faced young SWAT officer.

The young man was unapologetic. "I believed that the target was going to shoot the hostage, Sir. When I realized that wasn't his intent, I pulled up, but it was too late to avoid firing."

"Do you realize that if you hadn't fired, Sandburg would be out here right now safe and sound?"

"We don't know that for sure, Sir."

"Well I DO!!"

Captain Joseph stepped forward. "I'll take care of it, Captain. He's under my command."

"Good, get him out of my sight. I don't want _anyone_ taking any more potshots without my say so. Got it? If Sandburg gets killed because one of you screwed up, I'll have your ass!"

"Yes, Sir."

"Ryf, have you been able to get through to Anklam?"

"No, he's not answering. I did hear from the hospital, though."

"How's Jim?"

"Vitals are all good, but he's still unconscious and they're not sure why."

"Great. We need Sandburg out of there, now. He'll have Jim awake in five minutes flat."

"How, Sir?"

_Great! Any more stress and I'll be referring to Jim's abilities openly._ "Because he's Sandburg, that's how! Give it ten minutes and then try Anklam again."

* * *

**XXII.**

Anklam and Blair had listened to the phone ring about 20 times before it stopped. Now the silence was deafening. Blair had this nagging feeling that Anklam probably didn't need too much time to sit around thinking. He'd just realize how screwed his life was, and that could only make things worse. But then, he supposed the man already knew how much trouble he was in. After several minutes of silence, he asked, "So what are you going to do?"

"Not much I can do, is there?" Anklam laughed humourlessly. "I suppose I could try for a helicopter, some pizza, 5,000 bucks and plane tickets to Mexico. That ought to give me a few more hours of freedom."

Blair smiled, he had found himself beginning to actually like this man in the last few hours. He knew that it was a typical reaction of hostages to become attached to their captors, but Blair didn't think that was what was happening here. There hadn't been time for him to suffer that kind of breakdown. Basically, this was a good guy. Someone he might have actually befriended if the situation were different. Not that his path was likely to cross with this type of man under normal circumstances. "They always seem to ask for the same thing in the movies, don't they?"

"And they don't get it." The man heaved a heavy sigh and shifted the gun back and forth in his hands. "My wife is out there, probably ready to have a nervous breakdown. I don't think I want to draw it out any longer. I also don't want her to watch me get my head blown off. What can your friends out there do to prove that they aren't going to shoot me first chance they get?"

"Giving me the gun would be a good start. Maybe Simon and a couple of the guys could come in and get you. I really doubt anyone is going to shoot at you again. I don't think they meant to the first time."

"Why's that?"

"'Cause those guys are good. I mean, they're sharp-shooters for crying out loud. How could they have missed you?"

"Why shoot at all if they weren't trying to hit me?"

"Good point."

Anklam picked up the phone just as it began to ring. "Let me talk to my wife again."

After spending 45 minutes on the phone with his wife, apologizing, giving her instructions for finding a lawyer, sending his love to his children, even telling her what to do if he was killed on the way out, Anklam agreed to Blair's plan. Blair had listened to the one-sided conversation feeling like an eavesdropper, but he was also fascinated by it. The circumstances that had driven a sane, caring, family man to become an arsonist and hostage-taker were complex but also easy to see. It made him wonder why more people didn't snap like Anklam had.

Eventually, and reluctantly, Anklam had handed the gun over to Blair. The young man hated the feel of it, and quickly opened the cylinder and removed all the bullets, putting them in his pocket. Simon and Brown arrived a few minutes later, and Blair let them in, while Anklam waited patiently in the office. He seemed determined to surrender with dignity, which was probably a good idea, because there were news crews all over the place outside, and it would only help his case. Simon and Brown cuffed Anklam and lead him outside, where officers were waiting to escort him to a squad car. He watched Anklam go and felt a strange feeling of unreality wash over him. The whole thing was already starting to turn into a faded dream. Except for Jim. Blair turned abruptly and headed away while Simon was distracted with Anklam.

Ryf walked over and threw a jacket around Blair's shoulders. "How you doing, man?"

"How's Jim?"

"He's doing OK."

"The truth."

"The doctors say he has a concussion, but he should have come around by now. He's still unconscious and they don't know why."

_Zone out._ Blair thought with relief. _He just needs me to pull him out._ "Can somebody give me a lift to the hospital?"

"Simon will probably want to debrief you."

"He can do that at the hospital. I'm going to see Jim."

"Blair!" Audrey yelled with relief from behind the barrier. The officers there wouldn't let her pass, but she seemed determined to get through. Blair walked over and leaned over the barricade to give her a hug. She started crying immediately.

"Hey, Audrey, I'm OK," he murmured reassuringly, then pulled away from her. "Listen, I've gotta go. Jim's hurt and in the hospital..."

Audrey sniffled. "Of course you do, sugar. You're prob'ly worried sick about him right now. Oh..." The young woman cupped his face in her hands and looked as though she was going to cry again. "You're hurt, too."

"It's just a bruise, Audrey. I'll live. Why don't you go home and chill out? I'm going to be a while, but I promise I'll call you later."

Blair gave her another big hug, then wove his way through the chaos, finally reaching Joel's car. The big Captain was standing next to Mrs. Anklam, and Blair flushed. He still felt bad about yesterday's search. "Hello, Mrs. Anklam." He wouldn't have blamed her if she hit him. He was a likely target for the frustration and sorrow she must be feeling.

"You talked to my husband in there."

"Yes."

"Talked him into giving up."

"He didn't need much convincing."

"Thank you."

"Your welcome. I'm sorry...about the other day, at your house...I know that was terrible. I'm really sorry about everything."

"It wasn't your fault, but thank you for caring."

Blair nodded and the woman turned away, being led to a squad car by another officer whom Blair didn't recognize. He turned to Joel. "Sneak me to the hospital before Simon finds me?" Blair used his patented imploring look on the big man and he began to chuckle.

"Sure thing, Sandburg. Hop in."

* * *

**XXIII.**

Sandburg. Something about Sandburg. He knew it was important, but he also knew he had to stay in the dark, where it was safe. Outside there was only pain. Excruciating, mind-blowing, pain. The way to avoid that sensory overload was to do deep breathing exercises and remain calm, turning the dial on everything to zero. But something kept nagging at him, aside from the knowledge that if he opened his eyes his head would explode. It was important. Sandburg was in trouble.

"Jim." The familiar voice was soft and persistent.

Blair said everything was under control. But if everything was under control, why did it hurt so much?

"Jim, you need to open your eyes and look at me."

Not now. Maybe later. If he opened them, the light would get in, and the last time he'd done that it had felt like someone was putting needles in eyes.

"I know it hurts, but it's not going to get any better unless you let me help you."

That was Sandburg's job, wasn't it? To make things better. He should probably do it. Blair was almost always right about these things.

"C'mon, man. You're scaring everybody and Simon's blood pressure has gotta be going right through the roof."

It was an unfamiliar feeling, this fear of pain. Not that he'd never been afraid before, but he was usually able to subvert it, to concentrate on getting the job done, whatever that was, so that the fear became insignificant. This time he didn't have anything he could use to bury the feeling.

"OK, maybe opening your eyes is too much to start with. How about you just squeeze my hand if you can hear me?"

That was doable.

"Cool. OK, does anything hurt? If it does, then you need to concentrate on turning down your sense of touch. I know it's hard. You've got a concussion and that's making everything go haywire. What I want you to do is take a couple of deep breaths for me."

Familiar. Something easy to do. Automatic the minute the words were out of his guide's mouth.

"Good. OK. I'm sure you've been trying to turn down the dial and maybe it isn't working?"

Jim squeezed his friend's hand.

"OK, let's try something else. I want you to focus on me. On the sound of my voice and the feel of my hand. Nothing else right now, just that. Forget about focusing on your own body."

Good idea. He knew his body wasn't working correctly now. Too much pain and too much input. Whatever was wrong with him brought fear with it. Blair's hand was clasping his, not tightly but not too gently. He was solidly there with him, Blair's body heat warming his own hand. Underneath he could feel the strong muscles of fingers that spent a great deal of time writing and clicking away on a keyboard. If he moved his fingers just so he could feel his friend's pulse, reflecting a calmly beating heart. Underneath that, there was the rushing current of blood in his veins.

"Careful, big guy. The idea is not to zone here, but to focus on something else."

Jim squeezed again.

"OK, good. I think you're ready to open your eyes, but don't freak out. I've turned out all the lights and shut the door. I can barely see a thing in here so you should be fine. I want you to open your eyes slowly and just look at me."

Just the thought of opening his eyes again made his head ache, so he focused on Blair's hand again. He could feel a tiny scar on one of his fingers. Opening his eyes just a slit, he saw the room illuminated by green light. Instead of focusing on Blair, he tried to turn his head to find the source. It was a big mistake. The loudness of his own groan gave him an inkling of how softly Blair had been speaking to him.

"Hey, man, I said look at me. You're a lousy student, you know that?"

"Green light."

"It's a heart monitor. Forget about it."

Jim focused in on the familiar face. He saw it every day, but it was so changeable that sometimes he thought he was looking at a stranger. Not now though. The reassuring smile, the calm face, the inquisitive eyes, revealed Blair in full Guide mode. This was his best friend. The person he had come to trust more than anyone in his life. A man he trusted _with_ his life.

"Welcome back, man."

"Bruises." Jim saw the swollen lip, the nasty spot darkening on Blair's cheekbone.

"Nah, it's nothing. Just the usual. My face accidentally ran into someone's fist."

Smiling was a really bad idea. Something was stabbing at his temple.

"Fine time to take up a new facial expression. You've got half a dozen stitches in your head. You're going to have to stick with stoic for now."

"What happened?

"OK, but only the short version. Anklam bushwhacked us. He shot you, but you're going to be fine, just a concussion. Right now, he's in jail waiting to be arraigned."

"How?"

"He gave himself up."

Jim could read Blair like a book. There was a lot he wasn't telling Jim. Some of it nagged at him, and he remembered Blair in handcuffs.

"There's more."

"Tons, but the end result is that I'm fine, you're gonna be fine, and the case is solved. Right now I'm more concerned about getting you back on line before the doctor finds out I'm in here with you and starts asking questions I don't want to answer. Simon's playing lookout, but somebody's gonna be back soon. They can't figure out what's wrong with you."

"OK, Chief. You're in charge. Can I have some water?"

Blair poured him some, and adjusted the bed to a more upright position. The next 15 minutes were spent gradually increasing Jim's sensory input until things were back to normal. For the most part. The lights still seemed bright and Blair was still keeping his voice low. All of which could be explained by the blinding headache he was currently battling.

A doctor came in, Simon close on his heels, holding his hands up in surrender. "Who are you? Detective Ellison wasn't to have any visitors."

"I'm his partner. I thought maybe talking to him would bring him out of it, and, well..." Blair raised his eyebrows and looked at Jim.

The doctor looked consternated. "It has been known to help. I'm going to need to examine him now, I'd appreciate it if you waited in the hall."

Blair rolled his eyes. "You're welcome."

"Perfect." Simon clamped a hand down on Blair's shoulder and steered him from the room. "Time for your debriefing, Sandburg." The Captain turned his head to Jim, smiling. "You're gonna want to recover quickly, Ellison. The kid's got a helluva story to tell you."

Jim heard his friend groan as he was pushed out the door. "I suppose it's going to have to be typed up in triplicate."

* * *

**XXIV.**

Blair closed the notebook with a relieved sigh. He was finally finished. Jim was sprawled out on the couch again, watching nothing in particular, just flicking past the channels slowly. It was starting to drive him batty. The stitches had come out yesterday, but Jim was still moping around listlessly. Possibly he was still experiencing some difficulties with his senses, but Blair had asked him at least a dozen times and the answer was always negative. The doctors had found no evidence of brain damage, so what was the deal? Maybe Jim was just depressed. Getting him out of the loft would be a good idea.

"You hungry?"

"Sort of." Jim didn't take his eyes from the TV set.

"I heard about a new restaurant near campus that we can try."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, authentic aboriginal cuisine. It's called the Down Under."

Jim sighed and clicked off the TV, turning his attention to his partner, and said drolly, "How original."

"I heard they have great steaks there." Blair raised his eyebrows and bounced on his toes, trying to get Jim just a little excited at the prospect.

Jim was too experienced with Blair's choice of restaurants to be taken in by that term. "What kind of steaks?"

"Roo steaks. They're supposed to be really good."

"As in kangaroo?"

"Yep. Sounds great, huh?"

"I think I'll give it a pass, Chief."

"You have no sense of adventure at all, man. You've been around, what did you eat when you were out of the country. You know, when you were in the jungle?"

"I'd rather not dredge up those memories, thanks."

"All right, Wonder Burger it is. You know, eating with you can be a real trial sometimes."

"No, that's OK. I'll just stay here and rustle up a sandwich or something."

Blair sighed deeply. It was like pulling teeth. "The idea here is for you to _leave_ the loft. You've been moping around here for a week."

"I'm not moping, I'm recuperating."

"No way. I don't buy that for a minute. Physically, you're recovered. Something's eating at you."

"It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

"It's not nothing. You said your senses aren't giving you trouble any more, your head is fine. C'mon, man, tell me what's going on with you." Blair walked over and perched on the arm of the couch.

Jim was silent, staring intently at the remote before tossing it onto the coffee table. "These senses aren't what they're cracked up to be, Chief."

"How so?"

"They're basically useless, aren't they?"

"No way. Why would you say something like that?"

"Because I was so focused inside that credit union that I completely missed the man walking down the alley with a gun pointed at my head. My senses...no, _I_...almost got us both killed."

So this was why Jim had barely spoken about the incident. He'd read Blair's report and hadn't said two words to him about it since then.

"I didn't see him either, and I'm supposed to be your backup. If you were an ordinary detective, the same thing could have happened. Your senses give you an advantage, but they don't make you omniscient."

"I should have been paying attention to everything. How did Anklam get out of the building without me knowing about it?"

"Beats me, Jim. Maybe what you heard inside the building wasn't Anklam."

Jim shook his head in frustration. "I screwed up and you were left to deal with the consequences alone."

"Do you have a problem with how I handled it?"

"No," Jim looked surprised. "Of course not. You did a great job."

Blair thought about it for a moment. There was no doubt that Blair's screw ups had left Jim to face things alone more than once.

"So this is like, a control issue, right? I mean, you weren't in charge of the situation. You were hurt and helpless and you had to depend on someone else to get you out of it."

"Something like that."

"Sucks to be human, doesn't it?"

The tiniest hint of a smile appeared on Jim's face, then it disappeared again under a dark cloud. "I put your life in danger because I wasn't paying attention."

"Hey, two can play at that game, man. My job is to keep you from zoning out, to watch your back when you're using your senses. It was _my_ responsibility to keep lookout. I didn't do it." Blair sighed heavily. "You know, Jim, we could go around in circles for days trying to decide how we could have changed things if only we'd done this, or hadn't done that. Between the two of us we could rack up enough guilt to sink the Queen Mary."

"Probably."

"So we have to let it go, man."

Jim sat staring for a moment, then began clenching his jaw. Not a good sign.

"I don't like being afraid."

Blair was stunned at the admission. Jim was the rock. Totally fearless. Sure, on an intellectual level, he knew that Jim was just good at hiding his anxiety, but it had never occurred to him that Jim might actually be scared in the same way that he was. The laugh came out before he could stop it.

Jim stood, eyes cold, and walked out to the patio.

"Oh, hey, Jim....I wasn't laughing at you man." Blair ran ahead of him and blocked his path, looking up at Jim earnestly. "I was laughing at me. See, being afraid is a constant state for me. I'm worried that I won't get my thesis done, afraid I'm not going to get my grant money, afraid I'll piss you off one too many times, like right now for instance, and you'll throw my butt out on the street. I am Mr. Anxiety. So you being afraid this one time, well...it's just...I dunno...Welcome to my world, man."

When Jim didn't respond, Blair felt his heart leap to his throat. He ran a hand nervously through his hair. He'd really screwed up this time. "Oh, man. I'm sorry. I don't mean to make light of it. I was scared, too. I don't know what to say, man. I'd take it away if I could."

Jim had that far away look on his face. Blair felt invisible and about two inches tall. "You know, the one thing I could always count on when I was afraid was you. You're always there for me, and that makes the fear a little easier to take. I know I'm not a cop, I'm not trained, I'm not going to be able to help much if it comes to a fire fight, but I sort of hoped that you could trust me, and that you'd know that I'll always be there to do whatever I can to help you when you're in trouble. I mean, I know that's not much of a comfort, 'cause I'm not as strong as you are..."

"It is." Jim's eyes softened, and he smiled warmly at Blair.

"What is?" Blair was startled, he hadn't thought that Jim was listening to his rambling speech.

"A comfort. You saved my life, Chief. I was too wrapped up in self-pity to think about that, and I apologize."

"It's OK. I mean, all I did was talk. You know, normal state of being for me."

"Don't diminish it, Blair. I can guess what you went through. I remember bits and pieces of it, and I know you had a chance to get out, but you turned it down to save me. Thank you."

"No problem. You'd do it for me."

Jim sighed, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. After a moment, he spoke. "Roo steaks?"

"I hear they're delicious."

"Going to invite Audrey to come with us?" Jim raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Blair had a horrifying vision of spending the evening watching Audrey and Jim flirting shamelessly. "Not on your life, man. You're not getting within a hundred miles of her as long as I draw breath."

"What's the matter, Chief? I thought we trusted each other."

"I'm willing to make an exception in this case. I don't trust either of you as far as I can throw you."

The friendly bickering continued all the way to dinner.

~~Finis~~

* * *

I must thank many people on this one. It took a long time to write and Dae deserves thanks for not going postal on me after waiting so long to see how it turned out. Tigg found all my many plot problems, so I dedicate this one to her (woof! woof!). I had extra help from the peanut gallery when Anklam turned into a psycho. Merry, Saraid and Wolfpup got him into therapy so that he turned back into an ordinary guy with extraordinary issues. Thanks everybody! And I need to add a 2009 thanks to raley-hudson who pointed out my "y'all" issues and reminded me that Audrey's accent was a little OTT.


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